There’s a series of love: the beginning, the middle and the end.
People always say that beginnings are beautiful, where everything doesn’t need any lengthy explanations. You would always find the word “connection”. It is the one that people look up to among thousand faces. It is something to behold, but need.
In the middle of the story you would find disconnection, where everything is written in reverse. People hate this but this is a vicious cycle you couldn’t avoid, really; some loneliness, sleepless night, the void, the ease of pain, the muse, you expect things would be easy because you couldn’t see what’s there behind the middle part and what’s coming to you like some small steps that are trying to approach where you stand.
The middle is your best tutor, but humans hate to slow down. Flooded with things that others always said it would be alright and worth in the end. And “sooner” is only a delightful rhythm. Imagination heals them but once they wake up, story would be looked at in different angle. In one of the days of the middle, life changes you direction. Day by day, you would get realizations of each parts that you’ve been struggled; you avoid regrets; you get over the ponder and some sadness. As the end of the middle approaches, no matter how blurry the future is, you validate the thought of “I deserve to be loved again”.
And little by little, minutes to seconds, the end would visit, a reminder of the past you forgotten and half-remembered. The most promising scene, maybe the last appears in the question by strangely asking: “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
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