It's rather a strange feeling, knowing that in twenty-four hours, the place I currently call home will be my home no more. In twenty-four hours, I will be elsewhere, looking back on where I am right now, the chair I am in, the window in front of me...all so familiar, and wondering why it has to change. And yet that's not the only odd sensation about it.
Perhaps even more strange is the knowledge that in the next three months, someone's heart will be broken. And the knowledge that that heart may be my own. And the sense that I would rather it be mine that got shattered. I would rather be the one hurt in all of this. It's not simply masochism, it's not some strange heroic sacrifice. Really, it's just the way I am.
Because I know heartbreak. I know this very heartbreak pretty damn well by now, and I know that I could handle it. I know that it would be familiar, and in that, while no less bitter, it would carry a certain comfort that comes with knowing how to survive through it. It's not a gesture of pity or of sympathy. It's me understanding my own emotions and reactions.
There's something soothing about crying over a broken heart. Perhaps it should not be so, but by this point it is. So no, I do not look fondly upon my heart being shattered into tiny pieces...yet at the same time, I'd would prefer for it to be me. Then again, the more I think about it, the less I seem to understand. I don't want to be hurt, but at the same time...I still think I'd prefer it be me, if only because there's something about the other side of this that I seem to understand way too well.
So I don't know. I don't know what I want. I don't know what's going to happen. All I can do is calm myself down, sit back, and hope for the best, whatever that may be. And once everything is all said and done, I will learn to take it, deal with it, accept it. That is my only option here.
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