I tried to write something uplifting, something cute, something not only inspirational to me but to others. I tried to do that this evening because I wanted to stay away from the usual melancholic tone of my posts. For once, I tried to paint this in a different color, but came back with the same shades of blue.
Let’s just state, or reiterate, that forced “happy” thoughts make no echo, though. When I read others’ poems/stories/words, I want to find a connection. I want to know that it was worth every second. Somehow, I want to relate: awaken my mind, provoke me, trigger my deepest thoughts, arouse me, inspire me, motivate me…or let me feel your melancholy, but do it for me.
I think as humans, we will always just love stories with happy endings. And maybe that’s why I was hoping to write a “how-to-get-your-groove-back” kind of post. But how could I if I’m not in the right state of mind? Not today.
Instead, I’m going to tell you how, like never before in my past, yesterday’s invasion of Valentine’s Day posts triggered a rollercoaster of emotions in me: indifference, anguish, relief, nostalgia, amusement, bitterness… maybe I even got a tad jealous (because flowers).
First, seeing some people’s sweet notes about their significant others, people I know are in a dysfunctional relationship, sent my eyes rolling all the way up. At the same time, I laughed because they’re probably doing it for social media and, though it may be that they’re just trapped, that is sad.
Some of them reminded me to be glad that I’m riding solo.
But somewhere in the mix, between their various posts and my unwanted thoughts, the anguish and resentment took turns. How is it that the villains, those who’ve been insensitive and callous to you get to be happy?
The answer is unknown, I know.
“Wish them well” when you want to wish them hell is that little thing that comes only after you’ve made peace with the fact that some things in life can only be, and they will continue to go on until you get a little closure on your way out; until your shade can’t get any bluer; until all the moon’s phases reach their completion; until so much time has passed that you forget why you’re mad or sad.
Don’t know why, but that’s life. And so I ask: isn’t it strange how in this extraordinarily massive universe, we’re all connected by the same stories?
My thoughts can’t quite find coordination tonight, but hopefully you got my point. : )
