I always fancied myself as a continuously tragic broken heart that needed to constantly be reinvented in order to maintain any sense of self. I used each disappointment as fuel for my ambitions, and there was a time when nothing seemed out of reach. Not anymore, though. Not sure how or when exactly, but it is very evident that my broken heart has very much been healed. Somehow, when I wasn't paying attention, I reached the love I used to write about on this thing that is not a blog. I'm staring into its luminiscence and it is so very clear, so very simple. Not even my twisted sense of deduction could come to any other conclusion. Before me stands the personification of every love poem I have ever written. The ending to what was never supposed to conclude. I cannot even pretend that I am not the happiest I've ever been. I wonder now, though, what can I use as fuel if not heartache? And most importantly, if I've already arrived, is there anywhere else worth going?
