I fucking hate bad timing. An offshoot of bad luck, only bad timing feels worse.
At least luck feels uncontrollable.
“Everything happens for a reason.”
Sick of that, too. What reason? Lately, it’s a disjointed notion. Feels like running this fucked up emotional gambit full of equally fucked up ebbs and flows.
Holding hands through a crowd.
At the airport saying goodbye.
No cause for anger, being as there is no way to combat whats long been set.
Just fucked up timing.
Back in a coffee shop weeding through photos I’ve taken whilst being part of this new world.
Took me to these. Perhaps they are just for me; their dichotomy provide me a positive example of how timing isn’t always bad.
Things do sometimes happen for a reason. Growing and changing.
Living and learning.
Blaming timing is a cop out. An immature venting method allowing momentary reprieve from the “what could have been?” reflex.
Live and learn.
Grow and change.