Excuses are like assholes, every one I meet lately is one. That’s not the saying, but my heart is bitter and I don’t give a fuck. For what it’s worth, at least I get to start over. Not the kind of starting over that happens when some shitwad steps on your sand castle, but like…the kind where you know that everything happens for a reason and the person who couldn’t figure out their life is probably gonna be alone forever. While you’re lucky enough to be capable of finding the 2.0 version of what you thought was the one, but also unlucky enough to have to be doing this for the 57th time.
Ive been frantically trying to retrace my steps today, back to the purest form of my heart. Because lately I’ve been feeling like this might be the type of situation that breaks me. ME. BREAKS, Me. The woman who’s been writing for a year about not giving up on something I truly want. Today I actually found myself thinking…what if it’s just not for me? What if my purpose is to just write about the impossible feat of having someone love me in return? For the first time in my life I had feelings that felt so right that there was absolutely no way this couldn’t go in my favor. At least that’s how it played out in my head. I’ve been dealing with boring, narcissistic, incapable of holding a conversation idiots and then the universe was like here you go, this is what you need. Just kidding, go fuck yourself.
My happy endings these days are just a series of being able to move on in a timely manner so that I can do it all again. Cutting my recovery time in thirds and being able to close up heartbreak hotel quick enough to look like it doesn’t almost kill me, every god damn time. The truth is life isn’t over until someone changes my Facebook page to that creepy obituary one that people who never spent a moment of their lives caring about me post about how funny I used to be. [I can’t untag myself when I’m dead, so be kind people.] With that said, I keep truckin.
Truckin on into work where I can make money to be able to travel and forget about him. Truckin on into the gym so that I can keep a physique that compares to my personality. Truckin on over to tinder, cause I get lonely at night and something is better than nothing. Even if something is a 35 year old aspiring rap artist who talks in emojis and owns stock in low cost hair gel. Ugh.
It’s just getting old, you know, like me. Having to start over when you have exactly what you were looking for and that person just wasn’t on the page you needed them to be on. Maybe there’s someone out there right now wondering what it would be like to know someone like me. Or maybe while everyone else has a king to their queen, I’m just a forever pawn on this chess board of life.
This morning I woke up and I felt like I didn’t want to feel like this anymore, so I’m trying to do just that. End the confusion, block out the pain. But I can’t help but wonder what the point of all of this was. The only logical explanation is that since nothing could be worse, it’s a stepping stone to something better.
It only takes one person to alter your thinking; color your perspectives, to force you to reevaluate what you think you know. And it only takes one moment for you to ask the toughest question: Do you know who you are, and are you capable of starting over?
If nothing else comes of this, I have gained a new found appreciation for turning my gaze inward and an ever exhausting but truly capable mind set of continued and passionate stamina. If I fall twenty more times, I’ll get up twenty one and someday someone’s not going to be able to walk away from this kind of hopeless romance.
Cheers to the people who try their hardest to be good enough for everyone, we are the ones who walk alone. We are the ones who will find eachother one day.