The Big Dump
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times ...
Whoops, I think someone has already used that line.
OK, let me paraphrase then.
It was the happiest day, no wait, it was actually the crappiest day of your life ...
Remember? The day that the boy or girl of your dreams, the man or woman who seemed to be the promise of the future, simply let you go.
Remember? Just when you thought everything was perfect, perfect became goodbye, adios, arrivederci, we can still be friends, see-ya-wouldn't-want-to-be-ya ...
It was the day you first got dumped. Maybe, it was the gentle dump, maybe it was the full-out crap-splash dump, but whatever the circumstances, whatever the modus operandi, the end result was the same. Your dreams crashed, your undying love hit a brick wall, your heart cracked into a thousand and ten puzzle pieces, and there you were ... suddenly alone, misty eyed as you scribbled break-up poetry late into the night.
OK, I never said it was good poetry. After all, how can you write good poetry when your world is crumbling like clearance-rack brownies long past their best-before date?
It's a day you hate to remember, and it's a day you'll never forget. And there you were, wondering how you could live, how you could possibly carry on without that special connection, which turned out to be not so special after all. How could you wake to the next morning feeling divided, confused, and so alone? How and why? Why and how?
And yet, here you are.
Yes, go figure. Here you are.
What does that tell you?
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times ...
Whoops, I think someone has already used that line.
OK, let me paraphrase then.
It was the happiest day, no wait, it was actually the crappiest day of your life ...
Remember? The day that the boy or girl of your dreams, the man or woman who seemed to be the promise of the future, simply let you go.
Remember? Just when you thought everything was perfect, perfect became goodbye, adios, arrivederci, we can still be friends, see-ya-wouldn't-want-to-be-ya ...
It was the day you first got dumped. Maybe, it was the gentle dump, maybe it was the full-out crap-splash dump, but whatever the circumstances, whatever the modus operandi, the end result was the same. Your dreams crashed, your undying love hit a brick wall, your heart cracked into a thousand and ten puzzle pieces, and there you were ... suddenly alone, misty eyed as you scribbled break-up poetry late into the night.
You were my heart and my everything
You were my hope for a wedding ring
You were my sunrise and my dawn
And now, OMG, now you're gone
You were my hope for a wedding ring
You were my sunrise and my dawn
And now, OMG, now you're gone
OK, I never said it was good poetry. After all, how can you write good poetry when your world is crumbling like clearance-rack brownies long past their best-before date?
It's a day you hate to remember, and it's a day you'll never forget. And there you were, wondering how you could live, how you could possibly carry on without that special connection, which turned out to be not so special after all. How could you wake to the next morning feeling divided, confused, and so alone? How and why? Why and how?
And yet, here you are.
Yes, go figure. Here you are.
What does that tell you?
