""Coping up - You never really stop loving someone. You just (try to) learn to live without them.
So you can always live your life. As I will live mine. Life is a circle. Sometimes after going around it , fate puts you face to face , you freeze, everything else around you in slow mo, just when you thought they were left for dead last time you checked, you feel those butterflies again. As if there were no time and space between two people, between you and me, between us.
There will be always that feeling for that person that just wont let go. And wish, the last 30 years or so were lived with him or with her. The children he fathered were yours. Or your baby girl was his. May be a wedding album of your own. Two lives built together. Never apart. Silver gray hairs. Sunset. One grave.
There will always be that person. You bring her with you. You carry him with you. You only can wish. Even when the pieces don’t fit no more. Actually, especially when they don't fit anymore.
Life tries to be fair. It gifted us the capability of wishful thoughts amidst reality. The life we live is the life we have and not the life we wished for. That’s why it’s a wish. It’s your heart’s desire. It will always be something or someone you don’t have or will never have.
That’s how wishes operate. Always an alter ego of what we really are, or who we really want to be with. Who we’re with, may be circumstantial, may be we need them, sometimes we want them too but they will never come close to that person you’ve always wish you have in your life … if circumstances were different.
Coping-up redefined. My revalida.""
I like to remember things my own way. how i remembered them, not necessarily the way they happened. I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. My DeLicioUs ambiguity.
... my other garden ;)
About Me
- Irma
- I'm not a graceful person. I'm not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2AM, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don't belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn't happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don't see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.
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