Nothing seemed more right or wrong.
We were moving again. Everything I'd made up for loosing in the first place, was to be lost once more. And what I'd lost would not be gained. It will all be pointless anyway; no one will remember me from before, or after I left. I was kind of glad for that.
Starting over, new beginnings, another story. Life, change, hate. An endless circle of time. That I was inevitably apart of. This was all going to happen, I knew it when we first came here. No one else had though.
But I'd no intention of digging so deep, and no intention of regretting what I was about to do; even if I had done it before.
But before, I must defend, I had not come willingly. Isn't fate funny? The first time I have to go but don't want to and the second time I don't have to go and still don't want to.
I wish I could go back a couple years, to when I was always sure of what I wanted.
My very first friend, that comitted suicide recently, had told me that what ever you do in and or with your life, learn to do it without regrets. And if you couldn't do that, then learn to live with them.
That, unfortunately, is the hard part.
And how can I believe her now, after all that she did? What do I owe her to follow advice if she couldn't even follow up on it herself?
Since it's obvious that she regretted something and couldn't live with it either.
That, my friends, is hipocrisy at its finest.