Moving on.

I kept avoiding a question about a certain bitterness I was carrying along before today when I finally admitted to it while talking to my friend. What followed? A complete unnecessary consoling. I hate it sometimes for I know nothing is going to work apart from change in circumstances.

My friend would ask me, when will you move on?

And I’d be like, “How do I know what is the right time to move on. I shall, when the time comes!”. I don’t feel anyone can control this emotion because it is not at all our own decision to make. One can’t convince its heart to abandon a feeling any more than one can convince Donald Trump to be less vitriolic about Muslims or Immigrants.

The catch is, if one ever feels that moving on is a choice, then evidently they already have.