Endings always make me pensive. Just waking up in the mornings tends to make me pensive, but endings especially make me pensive. I start thinking about how things were and what I could have done better and I get stuck in an endless loop. This happened, this is what I should have done. This happened, this is what I should have done.
It's either part of what could make me a good writer or what's going to slowly drive me toward insanity. Or both. Probably both.
But even if I know that it's the thing that's going to drive me mad, I can't let it go if it's going to let me create something, can I?
See, those are the kinds of things I think about often. If something will make my life better, but ultimately more fulfilling, is that worth it?
I don't have the answers right now. That's what kind of year it's been. The kind with questions unanswered. Life lived in the unknown, no matter how much I've fought to know it.
A year of trying, then trying not to care. A year of wanting, then wanting to stop wanting. Love and loss. Hurt and hope. Depression, regression, trials, and triumph.
And that brings us to the new year. A new chance at a fresh start. A beginning.
Beginnings always make me pensive.