to think that there are those who’ve gotten close enough to know my body up and down, to know me inside and out, to have seen the chaotic way in which i make my way through the world up close and personal,
the idea of such people existing seems so foreign now that there are none who can say they understand me anymore.
those who knew me then don’t really know me now and those that know me now know little of what i was like then. of these two parts that make my current whole, there are few i’ve bothered to explain myself to, and fewer who understood where i was coming from.
past leads to present and present leads to future; at the end of this train of thought, the boundaries between those three segments of time are as pointless as drawing the line between night and day to me.
is it bad that this phenomenon doesn’t bother me in the slightest? that though living in the outside world feels as if i’m staring from behind a pane of glass, i’m more content with being a spectator than a participant?
i haven’t felt lonely or pitiful or desolate. i no longer yearn for the things i used to. i’m still in love with the idea of love, but i’ve learned to deeply loathe all that it can bring. i’ve taken the gamble a couple times before, and needless to say, i firmly believe that my perspective of the world permanently changed after each fallout. they say that you should never meet your heroes, but i didn’t think the same line of caution should’ve been applied to dreams and concepts as well.
none of this is to say i won’t ever take that gamble again, because no offer will ever be the same. so despite the fact that my heart has taken on a less reactive shape and form, if the time comes i won’t stop myself from going after what i want. it’s just that i felt i needed to put into words why i feel the chance may never come again.