I have realized over this past year spent marinading in Suburbia, that I'm at a curious, transformational, embarrassing point in my life and evolution. Much like my sole responsibility and focus, my life is entirely revisional—a steady stream of re-evaluating thoughts, possessions, beliefs, memories, friends, loves—trying to wash away the outdated, malfunctioning, damaged or otherwise encumbering ones.
This is not a problem for me.
What bleeds me is the process being done by others to me—others that I may have re-evaluated but found to be of intrinsic worth—emotional value. There is no sterile way to tell someone you really don't care for them—that you find them annoying, crass, boring, stupid. Does this mean I have permitted myself to maintain a double-standard? Or is it simply the reality of existence?
The foulest is people whom you've given scraps of your heart to, who were just never really that into you—second only to mutual pacts to never cross paths again out of some fool state of consciousness and protection of each other.
If you revise something enough—if it changes for long enough—it ceases to be what it was in the first place.
