EVERYTHING ENDS UP IN METAPHORS

METAPHOR #1

When an explosion happens, everything blows up to peices. That's why the aftermath is so terrifiying. Because you see, so clearly, that part of your life is over. And you're never getting it back. Everything is just gone. In a matter of seconds. But the memories never fade.

If your house blows up, you'll look at the mess and remember home. You'll remember all the rooms, your favorite hidining places, happy and sad memories. You'll miss it, right on the spot. There will be a hole in your chest and you'll know it's not materialistic things, you now crave. It's a place you can call home.

If your car blows up, there will be nothing left, but all the places that car took you to. All the people that came in your life and left. And the ones that stayed. You'll go over every single memory, reliving it all over again. And, again, you'll find yourself missing it. Because cars are basically homes too, only smaller. And they always mean something. Maybe, because its the first one we bought. Maybe, its the people that made it so damn special.

But what happens when you blow up? What happens when, suddenly, you're torn up to bits?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. How could anything even happen, if there's nothing left of you. So, you continue your day, your life. You feel the change, but there's nothing that you can do about it. Because people don't really care what happens to you. If you're actually okay. See, they just want to make themselves feel better; they need to ask you that stupid queston so they know they did. Then its on you to tell the truth. And if you don't...well how were they supposed to know, right? I mean, they asked you, but you lied. They did everything they could.

So, you blow up to peices and nothing happens. People don't notice, they don't know. But you do. And yet the only thing you can do, is feel it. Embrace it, deal with it. At the end of the day, no one knows about your change. Not at first anyway. But they do feel the aftermath. If you don't pretend and lie about that too.

No one knows about the explosion.

In this life, I am the explosion. And no one knows about the blown up peices I'm still picking up, keeping everything that's left behind.