100th post

today i wanted to discuss regrets very quickly, and then we can all just go home...

now from the outset, i dont want to seem like some wanna be armchair psychologist who seems both unintelligent and noble-esque at the same time, however i probably will come across that way. i merely wish to portray my belief of the true meaning of regret and how people should not hold certain things to heart when it is not applicable....something like the common misconception of irony.

from my own personal patter, regret is a profound and deep understanding of what 'could have been', where you personally have changed your own future, negatively, through conscious acts. i, myself, have misunderstood this concept and have made myself feel like utter shit for it in the past, some things, i am only now coming to terms with. i also regret certain peoples actions in my past, but yet again, according to my definition, i cannot regret these due to it not being my 'fault'.

other things, i can regret though; the wrong words at the wrong time, saying 'i love you' when i dont....not saying 'i love you' when i do.... not giving enough time or spending enough energy on a cause greater than my own, and not daring to venture into the unknown and take a risk on something fantastic. i regret these because the scenarios i have entered have warranted profound conclusions, and from these i have established that i could have done so much more to aid my own course and those whom ive cared about.

right now, these sentences mean nothing, just a string of words, formulated and latticed into paragraphs by someone with an eternity to ponder silently his beliefs, and hone his wisdom for whoever wants to hear it in the next generation. these musings are a manifestation of guilt at myself for not plunging into what could have been, instead opting to bow out and let the tide of time wash over, in the hopes of forgetting it ever happened in the first place. this is thick of me in the least. and the worst thing: i keep the specifics in my mind, to myself, because the metaphysical pain of bottling it away is less than the inevitable rejection at the source, regardless of the fact she'll never read it.