The pessimist in me

I never get my hopes up. Call me a pessimist, but I always prepare for the worst possible scenario. I always assume things will not happen. I make promises, knowing I’ll keep them – but expecting the other person to break them. Maybe it’s because I’ve been disappointed so many times. Determined to never be again, because it was never going to happen anyways. All people will fail you, says ‘gloom and doom’ over here. And if I expect it, it won’t hurt so much. In theory, that is. Try as I may, I’m not impervious to heartache. But I make it a point to detach myself from it. This will always happen, I tell myself. Get use to it and get over it. Maybe even stop letting yourself give a shit – that’s against your very nature, but it might save you. If only you learn how. Goodness is my life a contradiction. Made of both sunshine and darkness.

Anyways, I would never suggest that one should distrust people. It’s just how I survive my day. I would put stock in “expectation is the root of all heartache,” but I still have them. They just, sadly, happen to be all negative. And I want to trust people, I really do. But I’ve been left behind, waiting on people whom never show and have been told “I love you” by people whom never loved me at all.

If they show, they show. If they love you, they will stay. If it happens, it happens. But if not, then you were already ready for it.

Hell, the Mimosa’s got me. I must end this here.

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