Incoherent thoughts on irony.

by avrillorenzo

A girl is an epitome of irony.

A girl is complicated but simple.

A girl wants big things but is satisfied with the little ones.

A girl is happy but sad.

A girl is ironic.

What a profound way of starting another blog entry, yeah? That’s how I roll, I guess. And funny enough, I don’t know if that introduction will have any relevance to this blog post. I don’t actually have a concrete idea of what to blog right now. I just felt the need to blog.

Maybe I should start with how I’m doing. Yeah, that’s a nice place to start.

Hello. I’m recovering.

Yes, recovering. Not okay. It’s like I just have to accept things as it is. Sometimes, we just need to accept things even though we don’t completely understand. Spare yourself from pain. You’ll figure it out someday. But that does not exactly speak the truth. Because, the things we ought to understand tend to creep up on us and catch us off guard and we end up thinking of them excessively. And with that comes pain, though not as intense as it would seem. There’s just this little prick that you can’t shake off. It’s not a huge deal but it’s bothersome because it’s there. What comes after that? Bitterness, I guess.

Hello. I’m recovering and a tad bit bitter.

All of the things I said were in reference to me. I’m vain like that. Or maybe that doesn’t qualify as vain since this is my blog. I’m a tad bit bitter, yes. I get seriously affected when I see couples being sweet in public because we were once like them. I get seriously affected when I hear an exchange of wishes of love and promises of forever because we once shared them. I get seriously affected when I see couples share a sweet kiss because we once had them. We once had them and I can’t help but remember. And, of course, reminiscing makes things worse. Why? Because that’s all you can do… Reminisce. You can’t make more of those moments and all you have left are your memories of them.

Like the first time he held my hand.

The first time he whispered my name.

The first time he took me in his arms.

The first time he looked me in the eyes

The first time he kissed me.

There’s just this unsettling pain that you feel when you reminisce. And I think that’s the worst kind of pain. It’s unsettling. Things that are unsettled are the hardest to sink in.

There is nothing I can do about it at the moment.

I feel so bloody pathetic. I keep on spouting crap that I’m okay and that I’m happy, but here I am blogging about what I’m going through. Hypocrisy at its finest. Mother fucking damn it. I’m a mess, all over the place. Lost. Well, not exactly lost. There’s a path in front of me, a path to move me forward and I’m still weighing if I should put one foot in front of the other or not. It’s as if I don’t have the will to move on. Like I don’t want to. Because I just accepted things as it is with no further explanation. And we all know that the only way to fully accept things is to fully understand things. There wouldn’t be any room for questions or doubts when you fully understand.

So now, here I am, questioning everything. The more I question, the more I don’t understand. The more I don’t understand, the more things become harder to accept. The more things become harder to accept, the more bitter I get.

A girl is an epitome of irony.

A girl wants to move on but doesn’t want to.

Not yet, at least. Unfortunately.

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