The last stage
There are stages.
And I think I am at that stage – where I have been pushed beyond bended knees; where the heart has dropped to the lowest point that it couldn’t fall any further; where there is no longer any ounce of energy left to scream or cry.
I think I am at that state – where I turn to the never-ending checklists for solace; where I forcefully see past the present and focused on the ignorant short future; where my head keeps making up beautiful but naive stories of what would and suppresses the what if.
I think I am at that point – where I am giving up; where I am weaving lies; where I am reconciling as much as I could.
It’s a combined phase.
Of anger. Of denial. Of depression. Of consolidation.
And something little extra, that the sane and the saint would hate.
Acceptance? Perhaps, but not now. Because we don’t believe in blindly accepting ‘fate’.