there once was

yesterday i picked up a copy of the book you would bring me in (i have ceased counting down) days if change had not beat us to time. now marred, i read parts of it including the one you cited before only to realise that my reply of 'that's a lovely quote' was a complete shout into the void of my understanding. how was i beguiled by the ignorance & skewed bliss of life then to not have even guessed that perhaps you were trying to caution me. probably tell me that the central theme life more or less revolves around is loss. my oblivion towards what was worth was made clear in every aspect of that reply & now i hate myself for that. i hate myself for even thinking i understood. i hate myself for being just that superficial enough to think i understood. i hate myself because now i understand that i was only ever superficial to deceive myself into thinking that i understood. reading the lines over today felt like suicide because i recognised the parallelism, the hidden truths between the figments we discussed. it felt like dealing the cards of death to myself but it felt good. i get it now the ache of loss isn't just being 'drenched in a pool of sadness' on some nights nor is it merely about waking up feeling as though your chest collapsed under trampling dinosaurs while you were asleep — it stretches far deeper than that & intertwines in convoluted loops, it goes beyond explicable ways, so i won't even try. i don't want to even try because 'there isn't a word for everything'

but maybe this is the beauty of pain—you can never understand until you get yourself in it. or maybe pain is the beauty. maybe 'we are beautiful because we have been to hell'

do i apologise?