Driving home to mum and dad, to spend a weekend with no cares.

Tunes in my head: Dirt by Phish
Books of a page: Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
Atmosphere: Melancholic.

It's funny, really. We're all inherently disposable. We all have our own faults and flaws and positives and strengths, but in the end, when it all comes down to it, if we were replaced by someone else, who would give a fuck? Sure, society in the short term on the smallest possible scale would be affected, but in the long term, nobody would give a shit.

So then, when we notice that we're being replaced, why do we get so offended? We evolve as human beings, we discover new needs and goals, lose old desires. But even so, when we go to grasp these, there is a certain part in us that regrets.

Do we need some sort of immense pain before we can finally let something go? Do we need some great event before we can finally just give it away for it to abuse the next person who traverses amongst their path?

Perhaps. But even so, the whole notion of letting go of something one cares about, even though you know they merely use you as a stepping stone to some other place is still a painful one. It's not as easy as anyone can say, as anyone can think. There are memories involved in any sort of interaction between people, even if it's as insignificant and inconsequential as walking by them in a corridor and meeting eyes.

But when you cut the ties, and when you let go, then that all slowly dies away. You become hardened, less emotional, less willing to let someone into your little place.

As the same time, though, what exactly is the point in erasing your memories? Yes, they are painful, but they are what they are. One can never forget the time you spent with a person, even as they slowly, or quickly and painfully tear themselves away. And in reality, they will always be there, affecting your psyche.

So do we become jaded and cold, or do we stay emotional and hurt? What can be said, aside from that when you turn your back, the bastards will do nothing but put the knife in.

Maybe there's one more option. Maybe we can hide beneath the dirt and watch as the selfish motherfuckers walk over our graves, not even noting our existence as they do so.

But what's the point in a life where we don't experience, where we don't feel?

Yes, the notion of detachment is a painful one that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemies, it leads to so many negative consequences and feelings. But at the same time, isn't it an integral part of us as humans? Isn't the negative experience of someone just completely ditching us, leaving us in the dust for some unfeasible reason, or even worse, as a method of getting away from their own comfort zone, something that strengthens us as human beings?

Perhaps that's why people do it. They make a conscious attempt to move as far away from the things that make them feel loved, that make them feel wanted. And it often fails, and they fall back into their own pit of despair and denial. Somehow they feed off this feeling, utilising it in order to get support behind them.

Then again, they never said they'd stay until the end, I suppose. There was never a promise.

Which is why I don't necessarily believe in the concept of marriage. Isn't there always the lingering chance of abandonment, the doubt that lies in the back of one's mind that their love will find a sense of total intimacy with another? Even in the person that we eternally trust, forever and ever, there is a sense of doubt, sometimes rightfully, sometimes unjustifiably, that we will be tossed aside like yesterday's newspaper.

But isn't that what we do best as humans? We're a selfish race. We enjoy tossing aside what won't directly benefit us in the future. Fuck somebody who has the balls to put you first and themselves second. You'll just use them for every fucking penny they have and then toss them aside, never to be looked at again, the cinderella who is no longer a virgin, the tainted prize.

That's how the end always is.