The more and more I try to make sense of the past few months, I keep coming up short as to how and why things happened the way they did. The irony (as always) is that nothing I planned for really panned out the way I had hoped, and perhaps it is my nature that got the best of me where I have yet to reconcile the deep sense of investment I had in certain things I put my heart to. But I don’t really believe that self-sacrifice (be it in the name of love or anything worth fighting for) is ever wasted and, like he has said to me numerous times today, I’ve changed drastically in this short amount of time because of all that has happened. I’ve made my blunders and my faux-pas, but the broken woman that I am, knows she has to put herself back together.
I hate the sort of revolving door feeling of life, where people literally come in and out of your life in this sort of cyclical motion. And I mean this both in the sense that certain people come back after having been gone and that new people come to replace the old. Disillusionment in one way or another gets the best of me, be it the people I’ve come to truly know or the things I’ve perhaps wrongfully valued. You learn quickly that life owes you nothing. People owe you no apologies, no decency, no respect. You establish your own standards, your own raison d’etre. Those who love and support that reason for being are worth holding close; all else is meant to be let go with your forgiveness, your love, and your acceptance.
It’s all to be taken in stride, and especially when I have this long summer to reflect, I know at the end of it all that things are as they are meant to be.
Yes, I’ve said this all before in some way, but I think committing to writing again serves as such a crucial reminder that things are and will be okay.
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