All The Different Kinds

Some people are vain. Some people are insecure. Some people think they’re all that. Some people are lost. Some people are weak. Some people are arrogant. Some people are hypocrites. Some people never talk. Some people can’t stop talking. Some people can’t stop talking about other people. Some people never think. Some people are always thinking. Some people are always thinking about other people. Some people are always thinking of themselves. Some people are always thinking of someone else’s downfall. Some people are initiators. Some people are motivators. Some people are reactors. Some people don’t react at all. Some people complain. Some people complain about work. Some people complain about people. Some people are stupid. Some people are foolish. Some people are competitive. Some people are not. Some people do great things. Some people talk about having done great things. Some people only talk about doing great things in the future. And occasionally, on one fine day of the year, some people just fucking piss you off. 

The Wait.

Physical pain comes from the brain; there's blood and sweat. It's the simplest kind of pain to understand. It's easy to learn from physical pain...one almost always remember its cause and knows how to avoid it the next time. 

Psychological pain although more complex, once diagnosed, it can be treated medically. Caught early, it could be cured and over time, there's a good chance of being healed. 

Emotional pain is the worst kind of pain, the kind of pain that drives holes into your body, the kind that goes unnoticed until it is too late, the kind that causes despair and anger, the kind you hate for turning your world upside-down. They say time heals everything but for this type of pain, you're not sure where the pain is even coming from. You keep waiting. Truth is some wounds are too deep. Truth is these wounds will never heal.

So What If You Had Everything?

"People must know they'll all die someday. But they live as if they never will. Damn funny." -The Good, the Bad, the Weird
What a line...

Fools.

Only fools forget who they are, what they stand for. They lose the ground on which they stand, the ideas that they believe in. Fools believe in fairytales and spells that make the world better. Fools let their misery drown their own voices, yet will do nothing to change it. They find themselves screaming, constantly, on top of their lungs but no one seems to hear a single note. Even when they know how foolish they are, they choose the path of least resistance: to continue being deceived. Fools pretend to be oblivious, believing denial isn't running away from the problem but walking right through it as if it were a ghost that won't hurt them if its presence isn't acknowledged.

The Departure

She looked up. The bright, cheery sunlight took her by surprise. "This isn't so bad afterall," she whispered quietly to herself as she carefully laid down a small flower by the dock. This is where she had met her friend for the first time, back when they were both children. "Stupid children," she thought. After all these years, she has come to realize the truth of what happened. Ironically, when she finally found out, the truth did not matter anymore. She was never coming back to this dock again. This was the last time. Silently, she walked back to her car and drove off into the horizon.

Fond Memories.

At first, it's ok to brush it off, pretend that it had never happened. The wound is fresh and all you want to do is to forget. Everything about the scar is despised: its colour, its story and its becoming. Self-hatred for letting it happen and hatred towards the one who did this to you. You want to move on and start over.

Then one day, after all's forgotten, you wake up and wonder what happened? The anger has died down. The scar taught a lesson. What about him? Does he remember? Has he forgotten too? Does his scar pain him as much? Memories begin to flood your mind. Somehow, they are the good ones: the first glance, the first arguement, the first smile, the first touch. What happened is in the past; it should be cherished. Thinking about the good times in the past has made you treasure what you have now even more. You have forgiven the scar.

"Bittersweet memories, that is all I'm taking with me. "