Logic tells us that when we reach the end of something, we stop.
Life is a game, a book; everything has an ending, but what if the end is just the beginning? My end came a long time ago and I hope you’ll understand why I can begin again at that exact moment.
There are reasons these things happen. I’m not entirely sure what they all are, and I can name a certain few, but that would defeat the purpose of figuring it out. Everything should begin as a clean slate and end in flames. Nothing is salvageable if you really open your eyes and look at this putrid world. I was once taught that everyone deserves a second chance, everyone is wonderful in their own way, and everyone finds happiness.
I used to believe that because I had found my happiness. My sliver of sunshine on a rainy day. My cool, calm in the raging fires that spoke softly enough to quiet my malicious thoughts.
But there are only so many times you can roll the dice before you keep ending up with the same numbers.