Life goes on - what an understatement, right? It goes on whether you will it or not. It went on while you wept and mourned the loss of your love. It went on while you felt your sanity start to ebb away from you. It went on while you slowly started to give up on everything. It went on while the light that once filled your heart became dimmer and dimmer. Life goes on. Life provides. Life finds a way.
Life goes on, and it went on. It brought new challenges, new opportunities. It brought new happiness and it brought new life. While you put your dreams in limbo, life did indeed go on. No one should be bound to this one fate, note even you. But you chose it. You chose it willingly. You chose it because you knew that life had given you just the one real shot at happiness, and while you like to think you gave it your all, maybe you didn't. Maybe you failed. Maybe life fooled you. It went on, but it pulled a trick on you.
Because maybe it boils down to just ho much happiness there can be to go around at any given time. Maybe for some to have a lifetime of happiness, a bunch of people can only short bursts of it. Maybe that's how it builds up.
And you can't help but think, you can't help but wonder. And you do, and it leads you down an aching rabbit hole. But you do not - you can not - linger for but the shortest moment. Because life went on, and you can't go back. You can't undo what's done, you can't unsay what's been said, and worse - you can't unfeel what was once felt. Your ghost reaches its hand to distant fingertips - achingly out of reach. Forever out of reach.
You snap back to reality, because in the meantime, guess what? Life is going on. And you finally realize you can't say all you have inside you. You can't open yourself and show your hand, put your heart on the line again. You have to accept for good and all that it's just a dream now. It always was. A good dream, aye, but one where you had to wake up from once. And one from which you wake up again - and you do it because it's for the best. It's always for the best.
There's a part of me that wants nothing more than to knock on the door of the ghost of christmas past, to kneel before the altar where once I loved and learned to love. To walk beside an echo of myself standing close to the echo of another, forever on a loop of recurring possibilities.
But life goes on. Life went one. And it still goes. I pay the price for my choices, those past and those present. I am become this Beckett archetype : ' I don’t know, I’ll never know: in the silence you don’t know. You must go on. I can’t go on. I’ll go on.'
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