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Saturday, October 16, 2010

Self-realization.

It comes to you in odd, peculiar ways. Tonight came mine. I realized how I just blow up things into something half-real. semisolid. Like I live in a fantasy somewhat and then expect it to become a reality just because I want that to be real. Life's not like that. A is A. And no matter how much you want that to change, it doesn't. You can live in a parallel, illusionary world only for so long before reality hits you in the face. It's true. You can't be an optimist for too long as reality has a tendency to bite you in the ass and make you realize why it is that you were a pessimist in the first place. why it isn't all rainbows and daisies and paradise. This isn't paradise city and he's no romeo and there's nothing difficult about it to comprehend. The cards were always dealt right on the table, it's just me who always tends to misunderstand the dealer's intentions while shuffling the pack. There is no half-truth. It's just the plain, ugly one which you want to shy away from. which you want should change but it doesn't. You can make yourself imagine but this imagination can't help you. it doesn't make someone fall for you. Fairytales are just that. tales which are told to us to keep us happy and make us fall asleep to good dreams. nothing more. They certainly don't portray what needs to be portrayed. They don't tell you how people will snap your heart into two and break you over and over again until there's nothing left of you at all. They don't tell you how this world is just a big black hole which sucks everything out of you. I realize it now what you told me the first time we were together, "I hope you don't regret this tomorrow." and I said I wouldn't. Nevertheless, I made you into this person which I wanted you to be but which you never were, and I somewhere knew, you never will be. But that as my friend pointed out today is my problem. You were clear since the beginning. I did the terrible mistake of expecting something different. I got sentimentally attached, as always. and got fucked.

People ask me why I do this to myself. I am asking myself the exact same thing. and I doubt I'll ever find the answer. however the realization has come. The pessimist is back folks. Life is not what you make it, you are what life makes you.

BANG.

2 comments:

  1. The ever inquisitive soul asks again knowing fully well the reply thats coming"Is it autobio".The optimist in me wants to believe otherwise.But i very well know "not even this time babe".
    Well written and garnished liberally with pessimism.Wish i could change this bit.

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  2. Let's be blatant about this one. It is autobiographical. Thanks and the initial hurt is gone. Once you understand someone's motives, life becomes that much easier and you know how to work your way through.

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