For the rest of our lives, we are forever going to be slaves to the fact that we are social beings born with curse of always needing people to clean up our mess after we fall apart
Others may be lucky enough to find one willing to do just that for the rest of their life, but some, some are strong enough to defy that curse and live a life in a satisfying solitariness
Then there’s me.
I wonder how they did it, both the lucky and the strong ones, I mean.
How the lucky ones could afford to invest so much of themselves to other people, that these people would be willing to be there for their shit. How they surpass their own insecurities and uncertainties to be also the kind of person who’d be willing to be there for others for the filthy parts.
And how the strong ones survived alone amidst all the lions and the bears ready to pounce on them when they turn a blind eye. How they manage to make it out of this dark, haunted forest, full of the unknown and the unseen, alive.
For a while there, I thought I was one of the strong ones, only I never managed to get out alive. I barely even made a step before I hear a fallen branch break, and I cowered back to my hole.
Then people started appearing, and the dark forest was suddenly brighter. Too bright for me, in fact. I didn’t know how to handle a forest full of them so I started cutting trees. I was convinced I didn’t need them anymore because I’ve found better replacements.
We started paving our way out of the woods, but halfway through they believed I was strong enough to brave the darkness, so one by one they left. I stood there, aghast, as it suddenly began raining. I hugged myself against the cold and started reminiscing about the trees I thoughtlessly cut when I was surrounded with impermanent beings. I moved forward, missed a step and gasped as I sprained my ankle.
Despite the fear and the broken feet, I cotinued the path we were taking before they left. I finally understood how the strong ones, weren’t really strong, they were just abandoned people left with no choice and an agonizing instinct for survival
People continued appearing, but they shortly also began leaving. I thought I’ve lost it in me to hold on, but some people are just too hard to let go than others. I’ve finally seen the light at the end, but I still wasn’t sure if I will be ever ready for that. Because I was still waiting to be one of those lucky few.
But the light is enticing and I suddenly felt the need to be urgent. Now, I’m left with a question, do I deserve to have someone clean up my shit or am I only meant to burn shrouds for the relationships that died along the way?