There's a lot to be thought of about the unsaid.
Some things are just a lot easier that way.
In situations where the variables change hourly, their outcomes change everything, our desperate need for direction can be overridden by the multiple fears of what will ultimately lie at the end of each possible turn.
Guessing is painful and mostly futile.
Projected outcomes rarely lean toward the happy ones.
Best not explore what dangers may or may not occur.
All options spawn or die, multiply or evaporate with every moment-
Especially every eternal one apart.
It is wise to leave them alone. Yet they are still there - unmentioned - hanging.

The present is the only option. Maybe there are others, but I don't know them. But this of course can't suffice because even then the temporal has to be altered. Not out of fear of what's ahead, but the consequences it will bring. Bumping around time - imposing faulty blinders - this is what it is.
Uncertainty.
Unspoken.


I don't envy you.


I remember what it was like moving here. How hard it was - and determined I had to be - all the loneliness and involuntary battles.
Though it was much different, I catch his face sometimes and see it again.
There's nothing I can do. But he gave me reassurance tonight on a different issue that is applicable -

you showed him you knew and you see what's going on and you care

I do.



#####################
So much in one day, yet I'm boring myself with the relaying of its tale.
Again things surface as a story and end with an explanation of the - for so long - why.
It keeps happening. I thought it was just last year that would sort things out, but I now realize that all sorts itself out when it feels like it or, by chance escapes from my lips by mistake. Years finally looked able to be folded and labeled and put away, underneath the - already large yet recent rising - boxes underneath. Yet I am beginning to consider the idea that these things that pop up and resolve themselves are not because I am no longer forcing understanding, or have abandoned them out of futility, or even resigned to their unidentifiable influences, they are epiphanies with no redeeming merit.
Letting go and definition have been needed for a long time. The light bulb blinking profusely has served overdue endings. But I can't help but stopping for a moment from basking in their release and wanting to kick myself. All the realizations that have happened were so simple. It is if I have failed myself for not sorting these things out sooner. Almost even more angry with myself for not only being too stupid to see things as clearly as they have been all along, but for the looming reality of - I could have lived out the rest never knowing because of my inadequacy to pay attention.

Though, I am glad for the present to hand me the privilege of reflection. I am pulled away from the wonders of circumstance to question just exactly why these issues are evolving and resolving. It's not magical to anyone else. It's past magical for me. The process of telling a story and then hit by the entire background of why I am who I am, what made me who I am, why the story became what it is - is breathtaking at first; and in cases of self-truths, the shock of recognizing your ingrained view has changed without ever knowing before you began, pops open your eyes - and usually makes it difficult to continue.
My own words, my unconscious thoughts, needling their way innocent antidotes, opening the pages while I watch one by one the near infinite ellipses shrink into periods.
Just like my honed ability to handle hard times and crises with minimal delirium and impressive logic, my skepticism emerges because of the occurrences are now becoming a constant. I am taking in these incessant closures now with a nod and impatience instead of glory, awe, and relief.
I should be more thankful that my present is validating itself again. That is always questionable until you see them platform such problems and mysteries with ease. This all had to happen for enlightenment. This all had to happen just exactly this way - just for me - because I'm the only one that would ever understand this. I'm the only one it means anything to. The only one that felt it. The only one that had it. The only one that can put it away.
Revised beliefs are always the more fun. And always the most fun to listen to.
That's another complaint. Joined with the lack of amazement, and irritation with how long it had taken to see what had obviously been there the whole time, leads me into an area of doubt.
Not doubt of the beneficial outcome, but of the frightening prospect that I will only reveal the cohesions and changes - when it doesn't matter anymore.
I'm afraid that epiphanies are only happening because they are disguising themselves as progression from paralysis, when they are solely just a way up speeding up time.
Impatient simplicity angered by stagnation, bubbling to the surface, inducing defunct philosophies and buried psychologies, out of boredom - only to be thrown into boredom with resentment for it's tardiness.
I've never been known for my punctuality.
I should be glad. I am. But there's no thankfulness and the consuming emotion of - now, I CAN...
Just loathing for being yet another person who could successfully deny themselves.
My puzzle is falling together out of uninterest.
My puzzle is falling together out of pity.

Just another reason, (and proud to say, not a gender specific one),
to HATE the word closure.


Funny, endings are the most problematic factors of my writing. Of all I've written, the ones that end began with those. I constructed everything around the ending. Maybe that can be used in the future of why I ramble.
They don't end because I haven't come from that. And I can't ever see it to try. Guessing rarely stems out to positive. I can't imagine traveling back from that would be funny, when the various journeys all conclude with confirmed fears.

I am stuck with myself -
To continue living those stories
And fighting to make them funny.
To the death may it surrender - to anything
But pity.