Somebody said people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.
And my response is this.
Fuck the reason. Fuck the season. Yes to the lifetime.
If I care about you, I really want you to stay. If I love you, I demand it.
The reason and season, do not inspire quietude, deep thought, peace, or introspection. They do not evoke acceptance. When I hear about them I’m stinking mad.
If you like it, I’m happy for you. And also, fuck you!
The entity responsible for the reason and the season is an asshole.
I’m saturated with carrying people in my heart, eliciting memories, making memories because you know that time is limited, and you know that you’re doing that. I’ve found enough meaning in loss to last a lifetime, and now I’m done.
Making the best of it? No can do.
Stop dying! Stop retiring! Stop leaving!
People come into your life for a lifetime. How about that? Is that too much to ask?
From the archives:
I answered my own question
All of the roads, they did lead here
The High Cost Of Being Me
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