Hindsight is 20/20.
So I was sitting and watching a friend hurting over someone who never, for one second in his life, deserved him and the injustice of it all made me genuinely angry. Why do good people care for bad people?
The answer is: cause they're good people. And they respond to situations the way good people do, and they get hurt over things that good people hurt over.
And hindsight is 20/20. I look back at the past 2.5 years of my life full of so much bitterness and hurt and tears over someone who never, for one second in my life, deserved me. I don't feel full of self-righteousness on this account. I don't feel like it makes me a good person. I feel like an absolute fool.
Willing things to be that will never, ever be is irrational and asinine.
But I think it goes beyond that. The absurdity wasn't my choice, or the object of my affection, it was me not looking out for me. In a world full of people who are just out to "get theirs", I sometimes take the desire to not be like that too far.
I am out to get mine. I am out to get everything I want and deserve and need and the more I keep that in sight, the closer I am getting to it. I can't remember another time period in my life when I hurt less.
That's not to say that the residue is gone. A part of me feels that this will be with me for the rest of my life. That hit me the other day when I was sitting across from my grandmother, who likes to untangle the branches of her memory lane for me whenever she gets the chance. Her eyes slid out of focus when she told me the story of a boy whose heart she broke when she was 16. She even pulled out a picture of him for me. Despite the fact that she doesn't know where her glasses are or what day of the week it is, she told me his mother and sister's names, his street address, his middle name, what high school he went to, and how he crossed his T's (literally). These facts are decades older than I am, and she was able to rattle them off like that.
Maybe one day AYD or YRG license plates won't slap me in the face. Maybe Justin's boots won't bother me. Maybe Grease, Black Dog, Road House, The Last Action Hero, Tombstone, Batman Begins, and that one stupid bowling movie won't make me ache.
Or maybe they're gifts. Reminders. Maybe if Time could give me a kiss, maybe those are them.
Maybe when I'm 75 I'll have a really good story to tell.
The answer is: cause they're good people. And they respond to situations the way good people do, and they get hurt over things that good people hurt over.
And hindsight is 20/20. I look back at the past 2.5 years of my life full of so much bitterness and hurt and tears over someone who never, for one second in my life, deserved me. I don't feel full of self-righteousness on this account. I don't feel like it makes me a good person. I feel like an absolute fool.
Willing things to be that will never, ever be is irrational and asinine.
But I think it goes beyond that. The absurdity wasn't my choice, or the object of my affection, it was me not looking out for me. In a world full of people who are just out to "get theirs", I sometimes take the desire to not be like that too far.
I am out to get mine. I am out to get everything I want and deserve and need and the more I keep that in sight, the closer I am getting to it. I can't remember another time period in my life when I hurt less.
That's not to say that the residue is gone. A part of me feels that this will be with me for the rest of my life. That hit me the other day when I was sitting across from my grandmother, who likes to untangle the branches of her memory lane for me whenever she gets the chance. Her eyes slid out of focus when she told me the story of a boy whose heart she broke when she was 16. She even pulled out a picture of him for me. Despite the fact that she doesn't know where her glasses are or what day of the week it is, she told me his mother and sister's names, his street address, his middle name, what high school he went to, and how he crossed his T's (literally). These facts are decades older than I am, and she was able to rattle them off like that.
Maybe one day AYD or YRG license plates won't slap me in the face. Maybe Justin's boots won't bother me. Maybe Grease, Black Dog, Road House, The Last Action Hero, Tombstone, Batman Begins, and that one stupid bowling movie won't make me ache.
Or maybe they're gifts. Reminders. Maybe if Time could give me a kiss, maybe those are them.
Maybe when I'm 75 I'll have a really good story to tell.