The two years that I once promised to wait have gone by. Actually on the 7th already. But it's done, and I did it, regardless everyone told me that I couldn't or shouldn't. Pointless it was as fuck, but I still did pull through, even if there was nothing at all waiting for me on the other side, sans hate and loathing that I got on the way too.
Those were the best six months of my life, two years ago. It felt like I had a purpose, a place in life, with someone. But eventually it ended, like first loves do. That's the trick with them, they never last. And then I was again what I had always been; a pawn in the wrong box.
I'm pretty sure why things went like they did. I had two years to think of it. It makes sense, to me, at least, and I think that's enough. I'm not sure did I learn more of myself during the relationship or the times after, but I did learn alot. Of myself, but more about people around me. The experience made me more observant of how people behave. That's the way I've always liked things: watching from the outside. I just feel more comfortable on the edges rather than the middle of places and people.
I thought that there'd be something grand after all this time though; like a burden would be taken off my shoulders, a feeling of accomplishment of some sort. But I don't feel any different, I don't know where to head from here. It's easier to continue with a certain objective.
But like some wise man said: When in doubt, advance/add lard/C4/do something/tell the truth/wear red/do it/don't/exchange/go for the dick joke/sing loud/take more time/go public/throw it out/use brute force/remain silent/make a fool of yourself. There's a microscopically thin line between being brilliantly creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth. So what the hell, leap.
So at least I have a choice this time around.
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