hard to let it go

We live our lives, day by day, dealing with wins and losses, both small and big. We try to have fun, be with our dear friends, loved ones and spend our money not only paying the bills, but eating, drinking, fucking and generally being alive. We walk to our offices, to museums, buses and our cars: we move and we go, out and about, making choices, right and wrong, according to our beliefs, trying to perfect and excel in the paths we deem better. We try to be proud, too. We fail, but make up, dust it off and just walk on. Keep walking. So we go on, living the best we can, focused on our own happiness, love, contentment. However, we constantly do this on our own, inside our minds and privacy, cherishing all that is ours and only ours, putting some very special people hidden in the shadows of our personal spotlights. We don’t forget them, see, nor seize to care about them… it’s just that they don’t often cross our minds. Those people tend to get little of our attention and not a lot of importance, for they are somewhat ill-fitting in our places, our well regarded little life-places, our time, our careers, and also because what they have to offer is, seemingly, not compatible, just not quite enough for the current state of our lives lives. It is more than surpsingly often that we walk forward and leave so many of those people behind, lost somewhere between our chores and other pieces of our puzzles, even though they are important and love you. And it is only when shit goes down, when breaths hang by a thread that we see that we did bad, that we drank and ate and were merry but all at the cost of forgetfulness and selfishness. It’s on these moments that memories and regrets come rushing out, words and pleas spilling out of minds and mouths, begs and prayers. We reach out to the gods and people, cling to the tiniest of hopes, bringing up those forgotten good memories, that springing forward like a good dream. And it is only between the hospital’s white walls and, later, in between tears shed in warm, uncomfortable beds that we, ashamed and guilty, notice how everything is so very, very frail, and how much we forget that all things, one day, have to go.

And how much we fail, daily, to notice all that is wrong.

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