Unacceptable

Good grief, as a concept, doesn’t make sense. Crying doesn’t fix things and being happy while you do it seems very confused. Bodies and minds processing in non-linear stages. Chemical components in conflict, compounding until control is lost. Or composure. Falling apart, goodly. The stages are understandable, but acceptance isn’t one that I accept.

What’s the difference? I suppose acceptance is an act of submission. A finality imposing no further act. I think there’s a difference between acceptance and no longer caring. And I’m very good at the latter. Until you. You know that there’s only one mode in which I submit. If people had black holes in their brains, you’d be mine. And in this alternate universe, I’m a feeder of my black hole. To the extent that you become my every thought.

Did you know that, mathematically, you’ve been on my mind for 20% of my life. Pareto that. 80% of my thoughts have been on you for that 20%. With or without your consent. And then to accept years ahead without you in some capacity… well, that idea was unacceptable from the onset. Good grief, the peanut gallery whispered.