The end is the beginning is the end

My shoulders throttle from the workload done in the previous evening's kitchen parade, and my stomach suffers from all of its endeavours. Today was as calm as a printed blue sky. I guess my life now revolves around dealing with the aftermath of the Rabbit Soiree, so work becomes my querida, and my mobile phone becomes the only source of my emotional bacchus, beholden to it now as I was then to the tether I once attached to the woman who now proudly flaunts having had betrayed me.

It has been a few weeks since then... the day my life stood still amongst great circumstances. And in these new circumstances offer new potential and even greater risk of losing it all again to an ecstasy of cyclical patterns, most of which have already presented itself to me in my previous encounters. Getting older has its boons. You live and let live and you learn. I am become truth, and to others I can now provide inspiration, or a warning, or everything else in between, for I have had my fill of happiness and sorrow. The days looming ahead of me perhaps are only byproducts of this charade. It will be as I deserve to be.

A few good names have presented themselves to my life where I feel comfortable offering my vulnerabilities as a precaution to something else. Perhaps this is my new way of atonement, or perhaps this is a retaliation to the fact that the rabbit has caused me grief the same way I am giving my life purpose now. The rabbit deserves no recognition; she is nothing but an embittered memory of once was, but never actually did. I was merely an experiment to all her childish ploy; years of underestimation and feeling of abandonment did not register solely because the trust and hope in a better life was stronger than the desire to put an end to the imbalanced union. I fret no longer at the fear that she might affect me still, only that I might falter when she does lose faith in her newfound affair and decides to open herself up to coming back. At this point in my life, why would I not want a continuation of perpetuated flawed falsehoods?

I am already failing at the new ones that I am trying to nurture into something special; it has only been weeks. Would that I could more elegantly express myself in under better terms, but my weaknesses present themselves too strongly. The matter is not going to resolve unless the rabbit dugs itself a new hole. What would Ainhoa say about me had she known all there is to know about me? It would certainly matter very little in the larger scheme of things. I am neither he or she to her, only a phantom in the background of a morgue that may come and go if she damn well pleases. The rabbit gave me the same favour at the last few days of our incursions, and drove me sick to my stomach with the patronising agony she then willingly inflicted upon me. She needs to lay low off my mind and let new ones come alive, let the newer ones prevail, but I cannot rush what is not willingly given. I can only take what others are willing to give.

So I spent the day mulling over rewarding myself for successfully usurping the rabbit's resource for the last time. On the one hand I could not; did not realise it was Sunday, and everything closed earlier on Sabbath. On the other, I might certainly need it. Not one of my proudest achievements, no doubt. But the rabbit did indeed take a lot from me. And the ones chasing me will soon come back for more. By then I have no one but myself to turn to. I have always had no one but myself to turn to, so I must needs prepare for that eventuality. For the possibility of a new beginning.

I tire of new beginnings.