I was just thinking, for about the millionth time, about letting go of something. Giving up.
Why is it so easy sometimes, and so fucking impossible at other times?
I have been shit on and used and taken for granted, yet I still sit here hoping. Thinking that things can still be fixed, if only. That everything would be just fine, if only.
I, for those of you joining me late, am an idiot. And you might surmise, because I realize that I'm an idiot, I might be able to change my idiotic ways.
Doesn't work that way, apparently.
I think, in the deepest recesses of my mind, it's still denial that's keeping me from giving up. My mind simply cannot accept some of the things that have been said and done, so it denies that they ever happened.
And I fucking fall for that denial.
Every single time.
Like an idiot.
Fitting. That's the word that keeps running through my head and coursing through my veins tonight. But not fitting like a glove would do, or like a pair of pants would do. And not fitting like a reaction to a situation might be.
More like a combination of every possible meaning of the word.
The meanings multiplied exponentially in those places where they overlap each other. Fire feeding on itself, too hot for even the slightest, swiftest touch. Too white, too bright for even the most cursory glance.
I need to think about this some more. About this fitting thing, I mean.
Maybe it's like the final piece of a puzzle. It fits into place, and it completes a picture. This is like that, except this thing I'm thinking about, this last piece for my own personal puzzle - it doesn't just fill a hole and complete an image.
Nope, it fills every possible hole and it completes every possible image. And it answers every possible question and reacts to every possible situation. You get the idea.
It fits, in every possible sense of the word.
This entry sucks. Sorry.