“It was not what we knew or when we knew.. it was always them, it was and always be who they were, who they will be… sometimes we understand this .. sometimes we do not ..” Nothing can ever Haunt us like Our own Echo.
We always want things to work out in the way that we put are minds too, when those people which we anchor that precious state of love and trust upon, so we can assuage our worries and doubts, and seek our hopes and dreams.
They can be Sibling or spouse, parent or paramour, oldest friend, fiance, or would be true love.
We want, we need .. for them to be the persistent and resolute place, that we take to for solace, comfort or hide from the world, they should be a place of strength, a beacon in the dark, to guide us, put us back on the path, give us purpose and most of all the one and true bastion of trust where we never fear betrayal or be failed.
We come to know better.
We desperately need to believe we are wrong… but we know the truth. This…
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Are we capable of learning any lesson we teach ourselves, or are they the only ones we ever can?
We know who we are, or , at least we should, and any given moment that we do, that knowing is bound in who we were, in the where we have come from.
Now this seems a perilous conundrum, rife with unneeded complexity. Yet when that codex is deciphered, It should yield some understandable clues that we can solve the puzzle of us by and large.
This is not what I speak to now.
I am talking about those times when we Know full well, exactly who we are, but we become so fixed on what that means to us, we read into it again , and again, something else, we literally redefine ourselves in the blindness of our truth, till we are…
not ourselves at all.
The damage is then done… the simulacrum that has replaced that we knew ourselves to be, Stares at us from the mirror of…
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via On suicide.
The moment this was written, I did so to demonstrate what I could say, in an instant, about what was taking place inside me, I did not realize how prophetic my arrogance would prove.
Learning to cope…
Memory has its own identity, and we struggle each time we learn this anew.
We can recall the nature of our own life in the countless reminiscence of all we have known.
Yet there are times when so powerful are the events that alter every course of our being, that in a single stroke of fate’s merciless pen our every memory are redefined.
All we may recall is recast, every binding emotion torn asunder, and at once, who we were in our memories is no longer us at all.
Memories of Love become regret, devotion becomes purposeless toil, kindness is now is mocking placation.
We remember being part of something;
No, we only realize we were just simply there, as we are now.