“The idea that love is suppose to hurt”
It’s almost as if it’s the: inevitable. Unavoidable. Inescapable. Things could be perfect and then Life decides to humble the fuck out of you with a quick jab to the gut with an actual reflection of your life and you realize it’s actually shit. Like, okay, bitch. What the fuck is it? Why couldn’t my ignorance be bliss? And now your whole world is flipped upside fucking down.
Then — as it turns out: the signs were always there! And guess what? You’re just another naive dumb bitch, like everyone else. Been there, did that, now— here’s a participation award: heart break and years of constant counseling and the desperate hope to heal.
So, it kind of becomes a constant nuanced question, “what is the entire fucking point of life, if not love, marriage, babies and all that other romanticized shit we’re suppose to long for?”
The problem is: I. Don’t. Fucking. Know. What. To. Tell. You. Bitch.
I guess, I’ve kind have been going with the motions. Making the necessary decisions as they needed to be made. Nothing chosen just because I wanted it. Nothing done just because I needed to do it. No passion. No desire. Just the motions.
Now, I’m at a fork in the road trying to figure out: What the fuck is next? Do I leap? Or do I continue my trek. What is the trek? Will I always be trekking solo? Does Love have a place in my future?
Your guess would literally be as good as mine, and it’s MY life.
So, yeah— that’s kind of where I am in life.
Have you figured out where you are?
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
jimmyeatworldofficial
titsay