Yes, I'm writing this for you and only you, because today I don't care about anyone else but you. You might not realise that it is you at first, but you will, eventually. And when you do, you're going to smile that oh,-here-we-go-again smile that I despise so much, and you're also probably going to want to stop reading this. But you won't, because you and I both know that me writing this, today, means something. And while I know that words don't mean anything to you, they mean everything to me. So please excuse me while I continue writing.
Actually, I think I'd rather start again. Because if I do, and apparently I'm going to, I would tell you that I get it. I get it. You think that I don't, but I do. Of course I do. How could I not? You're not the only one who's scared of breaking down a six-foot concrete wall by yourself. Believe me, you're not. What makes this different than most of the other walls out there, however, is that you've got someone who's willing to help you break it. Or at least, if not break it, turn it into edible jelly, one that could (and would) also be consumed by queen bees throughout most of their lives. So there's that.
I would also tell you that it's going to be all right. That this, whatever this turns out to be in the long run, is only temporary. I would like to tell you that, but I don't think I ought to. Not because I don't believe it, because I do. It's just that holding on to hope can be extremely exhausting, especially when the line between temporary and permanent starts to fade into nothingness as time waltzes by. Still, if you wanted to, you could always try repainting over the faded line using the cheap colour palette you bought for Christmas the year before last. It may not bring you directly to the pot of gold, but it's a start. And that's what I think you need; a fresh start, a clean slate.
So go ahead, create one. Take down that six-foot eyesore. Kill every demon that has ever contributed to it coming up in the first place. And when that's done, go out there and start living. Life is hard, and it's complicated. I know that. You know that. Psychologists know that. Regardless, it's also very fulfilling if you know how to do it right.
Now, before I end this, I want you to read and understand very carefully what I am about to say next, once and for all. This is your life. Yours. Not mine. Not theirs. Yours. If you're not happy with it, change it. Not tomorrow. Not today. Now. Before the bees realise that they are getting high off of the jelly that once encompassed your wall. Before the colour palette (the one you bought for Christmas the year before last) reaches its expiration date. Because yes, contrary to what you and everyone else might think, it has one, just like pretty much everything else in life.
If you need me, I'll be here.
Actually, I think I'd rather start again. Because if I do, and apparently I'm going to, I would tell you that I get it. I get it. You think that I don't, but I do. Of course I do. How could I not? You're not the only one who's scared of breaking down a six-foot concrete wall by yourself. Believe me, you're not. What makes this different than most of the other walls out there, however, is that you've got someone who's willing to help you break it. Or at least, if not break it, turn it into edible jelly, one that could (and would) also be consumed by queen bees throughout most of their lives. So there's that.
I would also tell you that it's going to be all right. That this, whatever this turns out to be in the long run, is only temporary. I would like to tell you that, but I don't think I ought to. Not because I don't believe it, because I do. It's just that holding on to hope can be extremely exhausting, especially when the line between temporary and permanent starts to fade into nothingness as time waltzes by. Still, if you wanted to, you could always try repainting over the faded line using the cheap colour palette you bought for Christmas the year before last. It may not bring you directly to the pot of gold, but it's a start. And that's what I think you need; a fresh start, a clean slate.
So go ahead, create one. Take down that six-foot eyesore. Kill every demon that has ever contributed to it coming up in the first place. And when that's done, go out there and start living. Life is hard, and it's complicated. I know that. You know that. Psychologists know that. Regardless, it's also very fulfilling if you know how to do it right.
Now, before I end this, I want you to read and understand very carefully what I am about to say next, once and for all. This is your life. Yours. Not mine. Not theirs. Yours. If you're not happy with it, change it. Not tomorrow. Not today. Now. Before the bees realise that they are getting high off of the jelly that once encompassed your wall. Before the colour palette (the one you bought for Christmas the year before last) reaches its expiration date. Because yes, contrary to what you and everyone else might think, it has one, just like pretty much everything else in life.
If you need me, I'll be here.