second chance, not

I don’t know if how many second chances I have had experienced throughout my entire existence here on earth.

There’s this thing in me that either I chase after it or just let it blow off completely.

So, again, it was a shot at second chance.

It was a Monday night of shock and yet I was so full of control. I can feel my heart pounding to that sudden rush of blood caused by that instance. I wanted to get out but I can’t. I just froze. I am trying my might to think straight and clear my head and process everything. I can’t talk, can’t open my mouth. I was shaking inside. I was like that for a few minutes, but felt it like an hour.

Honestly, my rage numbed me. I can’ t get out from that.

I just let myself froze, blanketing me a coping mechanism to really preserve me, that me I have taken cared of for quite a few years now. That’s why I was able to pour at this piece because he left us. There I said it.

I did endure everything to lift myself up out of that situation.

Putting it to oblivion seem to be easy. What might be an unexpected event like that on one’s timeline in Facebook, became so predictable. Predictable in the level that of repeating itself over and over again rendering pointless and irrelevant at the end. I admire though the consistency but the integrity was shattered and compromised. I wanted to give it a rest and re-sucked at it up.

Why can’t he understand that the second chance he’s been chasing have already blown out, out of proportions. Never can he contain it no more. He let it slipped through his hands. Never even dared to have grasped it until that milliseconds when all things could have been okay between him and us, his family. How I wish he had done it like what’s in here. It’s from a daughter’s perspective but her letter’s synced with what I might say to him especially that few last paragraphs. Just then, maybe things would be different. I’ll never know.

I realized that you get tired of everything and you want to shut it out but you just can’t. Again, when you’re so tired, you become numb. You just want to look at it slip through.

I can move now.

It’s the end. It’s finished, he said. Why make a hopeful pitch at your second chance then? You’re just making it hard for yourself.

I understand now, I can deal with that. You made a choice. But.

I know there are second chances to come but I will be consistent, I trust myself to be numb, to suck it up and must get out.

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