Bebsism’s current emo mode: The Outsider – Perfect Circle
Goodbyes are supposed to be said. With or without a final kiss. But some goodbyes? Poof.
There’s a kind of goodbye that keeps you wondering what you did to deserve being left alone in the rain or sulking behind the dark corner of your miserable room. It’s the usual paradox of packing the bag and silent closing of the door while you’re still lost in dreamland making love with him in an erotic mise-en-scene. This goodbye is dark, a stab in the knife, death without question. It’s grief without even knowing why. This goodbye. I’m a habitual victim.
Another goodbye, is too frank for comfort.
It’s the sudden rush of blood from your wrist. No time for pain, no time to mourn. Next time you know it, the goodbye has permanently left a scar on you you wish you were the one who turned your back. This goodbye, I’m a habitual victim.
Another goodbye, painless. Because it doesn’t mean a thing to you. You’re a sensitive heartbreaker and you can’t hurt people. You wish you have the courage to say it but you’d rather wait to be left behind. And all you can do is look away, his pain is your relief. This goodbye, I’m a habitual victim.
And some goodbyes? Not memorable. They are not written, not cherished, not remembered, not even offered a eulogy. They’re not unsaid, said or slapped. They’re just done. Without a script, without sentimental background music. They’re just part of the classic spontaneity where one turns his back and the other waves his hand. This goodbye, I’m a habitual victim.
Then another cycle begins.