Tag Archives: the road to hell is paved with good intentions

Use Me

“Yes, but I think I enjoy being used.”

You know you’re being used. You’re being chewed up and eventually it’s going to burn and crash. The audible exemplification of cold reality. His words fit.

She knew. She knew, and she didn’t care.

Use me.

Use me as your receptacle for your aches and pains, leave your insecurities at my feet, find refuge in my attentions and affections. Let me love you for everything that you are, for your imperfections and pieces of you that you never let people see. Use my love until you find no more use for it. Until someone else fills the void in your soul better. Until you are bored with me. Until you have a newer and shinier plaything. Better yet, mix and match me with your other favorite playthings. I am yours alone until you will not have me.

Then, throw me away.

Why do I find comfort in this paradigm, she wondered.

Perhaps the answer lies in the security of knowing. Knowing that eventually things will end. The tumultuous waiting game; the mind bending torture of waiting for the floor to fall away beneath your feet be damned.

That moment. 

In the meantime one can take comfort in knowing an exact purpose: to be used. Security in simplicity. Serenity in certainty.

Use me.

It is easier to give love when you know precisely what one plans to do with it upon receipt. It is easier to give love when you explicitly understand that you will get nothing out of it. It is easier to give love when you know to distrust whatever is given back in return – it is a farce, a laughable attempt to shield you from the truth. It is easier to give love when you know there is nothing particularly special about your love.

She didn’t trust anyone who could pretend otherwise, as though anyone would ever plan to stay.

Because there is no question of future.

It is all inevitable. It is just a matter of time. The floor disappears. The walls melt away. You feel your stomach knotting and the world spins around you in darkness.

Until suddenly, someone new takes your hand. They need you. The spinning stops. The world begins to make sense again as you begin to invest yourself once more.

You put your head down and rebuild the walls, fixing a shelter. You find your footing as you lead them to their next path.

And you wait.

Because that moment is just one whim away.

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Good Intentions

“I meant to go grocery shopping today.”

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. If this was indeed true, she knew precisely where she was headed in this current trajectory.

She idly wondered whether one could find their way to heaven through bad intent.

It was curious to her that she could lay in the shivering cold, where hardly months before she had been dying to strip off every layer to rescue herself from the sweltering heat. The windows were fogged, and the sound of tires turning through shallow puddles on the ground crept in from the outside.

The world was quiet and dark. The fireplace no longer flickered, the flames had long died out and there were no longer dancing shadows on the walls. 

It was always in these moments that life seemed an overwhelming, daunting task.

Life was an experiment that had gone on altogether too long, without reasonable cause or direction, and the documentation of it was being entirely neglected in any meaningful way. The data was useless.

Faces, places, and time.

Conversations brought back to life by driving down the same streets, passing the same houses, seeing the ghosts of people that once meant everything to your self-centered world. Dwelling in the past, ever seeking the present, and fearing the future. 

Moments that only held meaning if you chose to let them. 

A future that you fear. Not for the danger that lies in the future, but for your ability to adapt to situations far outside yourself. Does it matter, then? Anything at all could happen, and somehow you will come out alive and well on the other side. Or dead, but in that case you wouldn’t be around to notice.

Do we seek the plot that finally makes us break? Do we long to know just what it is that we cannot adapt to? Or, perhaps these are only what a lunatic wonders.

If anything can happen and you can adapt for the better, then what importance can anything truly hold in the current moment? Fleeting emotions, obsessive attachments, transforming discoveries – all of these things could be taken away, twisted, manipulated or disfigured to a point of unrecognition at any moment. 

Yet, you will live on.

You will grow, and discover the infinite possibilities inside yourself regardless.

How many times can you begin something with the best of intentions, only for it to get drowned out in the noise before you realize that all it ever could be was simply the intention itself?

How many times can you watch your good intentions can be churned into the concrete that paves your life’s path, before you wonder whether intentions of any kind are worth having at all?

Meaning is perspective. Everything is temporary.