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  • "It's a lot easier to say when something ended rather than when it began. Most of us can recognize the end from a mile away, but the beginning always slips up on us, lulling us into thinking what we're living through is yet another moment, in yet another day."

    The end is like a thorn protruding from your chest, which serves as an anchor so your body doesn’t leap out and rip you into shreds. Something to hold onto as your world bounces towards a stop. It takes a while for things to settle and you find your fingers ache from your death grip of said thorn. You see the end coming, racing towards you and instinct drives you to hold on.

    But it was sitting within you for so long, longer than you could feel it coming. It started with the bump you dismissed as an ingrown hair. You squeezed and poked at it, but that only lead to its irritation. Lotions and potions served no good. The bump grew until its sharp end was exposed from your flesh. Still you ignored your new feature regardless of the endless amount of ripped shirts and scratch marks on your arms.

    It was in you for so long and now it is part of you, sticking out of you.

    How can anyone know what a beginning is until it reaches the end? We can not quantify, box up and package neatly in our minds the amount of time we invest in something until it reaches it’s climax and changes into something new. Pushed along as our orbiting ship moves with no regards to our desired destination.

    The end is a beginning in itself; the mark of something new approaching. So we flex our fingers and remember what it was like to feel as their numbness fades. We learn to work with the thorn; we sew holes in our clothes and our bodies naturally move to avoid bumping into walls. One day we wake up and the thorn fell off leaving white tender skin in its place. And we miss our thorn. We miss the reminder of our survival; our relic of strength, perseverance from pain.

    It is the end of the end and the beginning of the new beginning that pushes our bodies through its metamorphosis
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