the thing about circumstances is, people always have to make sense of it. they go for the long, straining process of dissecting sentences, of glances, of the silence, of the reason for the sudden change of tides because they fear the short, simple task of asking. because that simplicity in itself is what's terrifying--when layers and layers of conjectures, of thoughts and questions are abruptly stripped and rendered useless. it's like driving a hundred miles an hour without brakes or seatbelts on; there's no safety, nothing to stifle the inevitable impact of grasping the truth in all its aching glory. and like all accidents, like car crashes, not everyone makes it out in one piece.
