Three years didn’t matter.
Almost a year of being okay didn’t matter.
I’m left wondering what really does matter in the world. They, the rest of the world, always seemed to describe love as the epitome of all that is good. Perfect and worthwhile, but fragile. Painfully fragile. Once it’s gone, I’m left holding the shards and I realize that love is empty.
Love holds nothing inside. In its absence, nothing remains.
I feel like I’m searching for some meaning. I’m desperate to hope that the last three years of my life did not amount to nothing. All my soul-searching dives are coming up short. There is nothing there. It is not that I don’t believe that she cares. Whether she does or does not isn’t significant. What hurts is the realization that love and happiness really does have no guarantee.
As a human, I am essentially drawn toward the idea of permanence, anything to defy the concept of limited time. In the end, nothing is permanent. In the end, does anything matter?
Depressing meme of the day: