Deleted

Deleted

One of the lessons that I have taught myself is that acceptance is ultimately just a state of mind. Memories may abound, lingering and foaming up at odd and unexpected moments but then, as it was in the mind, in one’s memory that common and simple objects become defined to be so much more than just food for the senses, then so it must follow that it is also in the mind that they are to ultimately die, rot, and disappear.

But then, as I have also taught myself, I could be wrong.

Now, I wonder if it is the only way, that to pave the road and walls of acceptance in one’s mind, one should shatter the structures that exist in the real world, as if the tearing and cutting down of bridges and ties in the physical world would help and serve as the very materials for the building of the structures in ones mind.

I am no stranger to the currents and possibilities of human life, and the complexities that it can spawn when it sets its fingers and arms and legs to intertwine with another’s. And yet no matter how much I have taught myself, no matter what I have learned, for whatever they are worth, I still cannot fully immune myself from the actions of those with whom I have bound myself, especially when those bounds are made from the fibers of what it is to die intertwined with the beauty of how it is to live and love.

Odd, that the most painful experiences that I have had in this physical world are those moments that the five senses could not detect, and yet for some reason stains itself on one’s thoughts, horrible like blood being suddenly sprayed on my face.

I have survived the onslaught of fists and feet, their bruises absent, as if they never existed in the first place. And yet why can I not learn the lesson of how it is to be cold, to be immune once abandonment comes knocking on my door to keep me company?!

In this cyberworld that I have waited for, where my bones where partly made, there is something about being deleted that hurts unlike any physical discomfort.

I just got deleted. I just got abandoned. And yet I dare not turn the ice king in me who only waits for me to bow my head so he can take over.

I guess being deleted means as simple as that. Like garbage that gets thrown to landfills, we delete those that no longer matter to us.

And to think someone once said I was not thrash. But then, if there is something that I have also learned is that people lie, even in the midst of making love.

But of course this is only me, but if being deleted, if destroying the bridges would mean that I could gather the rubble as materials for the walls and roads of acceptance, then who knows, I might just teach myself that lesson.

Possibly.