The End of the Film

I can't stop thinking about it. I can't. It's driving me crazy. It makes me feel angry, and hurt, and confused... and I'm frustrated that I can't stop thinking about it. I feel pathetic and weak. I feel like a fool. I've always had a difficult time trusting people, and not necessarily because of one big instance in my life, but because of all the little things that have built up over the years. Especially trusting words. Words are powerful. But for once, for ONCE, I finally let myself believe everything. All of it. I finally LET GO. I gave in, said "come what may," and actually believed that everything would be the way the words said they would. FINALLY did it. And, to what purpose? To have it slapped back in my face, my heart stabbed, and my inner-NESS -- not quite my soul, but something close to it -- kicked to the side of the road and forgotten, wounded, bleeding, and possibly scarred. Memories are powerful. Memories of verbs, nouns, adjectives... at once making sense, then suddenly dropped, erased from the story. Why does it matter so much to me? Why do I let it live in my mind, when it has no existence anywhere else? It's like an old-fashioned movie playing in a darkened attic, and as the end of the film nears, the tape on the reel begins to flap, replaying the last scene over and over... and I just sit there watching it, hoping that THIS time it will make sense. It never does.