They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder.
They say that patience is a virtue.
They say if you let something go and it comes back, that it was meant to be yours forever.
They say that only time will tell.
What they seem to leave out is that you don't know exactly when or what time itself is going to perform said 'telling.'
What they forget to tell you is that, in the midst of all this unbending optimism and hopeful anticipation, all you really want to do is to wake up without that churning inside your stomach to find that it's all a bad dream.
Or do you?
I don't know how I feel about that.
Five months later, I still don't know what the churning signifies, and I want nothing but for it to be gone. Yet, I find myself strangely obligated to feel it. By some force of some nature of some...thing. That I simply cannot control.
The hopeless might call it 'love.' The cynics might call it 'regret.'
I don't call it either. I suppose that's half the beauty I see in it.
The other half is seeing how much I've grown since then, and - even in seeing my mistakes - I still feel this way.
That's worth something in my book. And I suppose I am willing to wait a while to find out what it means.
The only pratfall is that I never want to experience anything like that with anyone else. Because I don't want to be hurt, because I don't want to feel this way again. And because I, myself, am a cynic at heart.
How about that? A 'cynic at heart.' Kind of an oxymoron, no? : )
"I have seen it that the greatest deception of man lies not in his deception of others, but in his hoarding the innate desire to be loved from himself - alone."
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