I've even dreaded the ending of the alphabet. Once you're through, you can't start again. Of course you could, but it wouldn't be right, wouldn't be the same as before. I've dreaded this letter I will write about today, the "z". Actually, I'm probably not even going to choose a word for it, I have absolutely no intention of browsing through that beloved Oxford Dictionary like I have been doing the past months, or year, or however long ago I started this.
Sometimes I say to myself, you have to be tough. You can't do this, or shouldn't do that. You can do those things, or well, maybe you can't. It's all right, yet it's not. Sometimes I don't understand myself, give myself bad advice or just incomprehensible. I make no sense whatsoever when I try so hard to make myself see something I already do, or will never be able to. Sometimes I just let things be, hanging on to them for too long in the hope they won't vanish before my eyes.
Every once in a while I'm lucky, and all the refusing and ignoring the obvious actually makes something stay. Every once in a while it doesn't beyond all odds. Most of the time there is absolutely nothing I can do, despite all the wishes, despite all the hopes. Moments come and go whenever they want to, just like people and anything else in this world. There is a moment for everyone and everything, no matter how hard we try to believe otherwise.
"Enter Post Title". As soon as I hover my mouse above that text, it disappears, making place for whatever I want to type as my "Post Title". How many times have I removed that text without thinking about it? How many times have I not realised one click is the end of an idea and the beginning of a draft? How many times have I removed that draft that so easily swept away the idea, taking all future possibilities with it? How many choices that I have made in the past were vital ones? Will I ever know what mattered and what didn't?
I know I have too many questions to answer, too many new questions coming from those answers whose answers lead to even more questions. I know I will probably never know any of the answers, but I'd like to think I do. If I stop believing, it will be yet another ending, the ending of a phase in life where I believed anything was possible and anything had an explanation. Maybe those explanations are overrated, maybe not, but I always thought there was one. No matter how small or insignificant, everything had a meaning and I liked it that way. Closure was safe, even though I didn't enjoy it as it meant yet another ending.
Thinking the things I think, and more so the amount and character of the things I think, has always been hard for me. Once I start thinking I'll never stop unless I explicitly tell myself to do so. I could go on and on about one little detail without realising it's just another excuse for not having to end my train of thought. Oh how I dread those moments where I realise it's going nowhere, my thoughts are going nowhere, just circling around 'till I see the same things enough times to start wondering whether I've seen them before, whether I've thought them before. Of course I have, but it's a soothing feeling, knowing what you'll think next yet believing you don't. Having to break that almost perfect cycle is one of the most painful endings I know. No matter what happens in life, it's always my mind that causes the greatest fear, pain and joy.
It's my own little world, and I don't want it to end. I don't want my letter "z".