For some, you're a reminder of their wretched past. The others are a symbol of yours.

You're detached. Death doesn't scare you. You picture yourself without your loved ones and strangely, you seem comfortable. You know that when something is not going to matter to you twenty years down the line, you won't make much of it in the present. You believe that there are no mistakes in,life, only lessons. The opposite of love isn't hate but indifference. For all that you've been through, the good, the bad, the ugly... some of it being really, really ugly, somewhere you still think it was worth it. You talk about letting go. In reality you can't ever let go completely. Not of them. Just of that part of you that cared so much.

Enter and Exit. In between, you throw yourself in a tizzy, wishing and hoping everyday and then feeling thankful that all that you asked for did not come true. You cross all boundaries only to realise that you now have to come around... and that might take you a lifetime. A cycle sets in. Every catharsis leads to a whirlwind of new emotions leaving you in a spot because you just don't know how to deal with any of it

Of what you read and see, it's supposed to be wonderful. Of what you know and experience, it's frustrating, annoying, irritating, septic, tragic and devastating. It drains you of happiness, peace, sanity et al. Yet, in some abstract, weird sense, it's beautiful. And perhaps the beauty lies in the fact that it is never meant to be.

Ignore it, long for it, run away from it.

I'm not ready to surrender to it.

And I will not fight this with food.