One of the problems when your life is a literary conceit …
… is that you maintain faith in the happy ending.
Even with all evidence to the contrary, even with a terrible track record years-long, when things line up perfectly (aka literary conceit) it seems apparent that things should “work out”.
This is not only insane, but an incorrect assumption about literature.
“Literary” does not = happy ending. Ever read Anna Karenina? Yeah, that book has one HELL of a happy ending, don’t it?
The fact that things line up doesn’t mean shit. It just means that things line up. It takes a certain sort of brain to perceive patterns, themes, and I have always had that kind of brain. My perpetual heartbreak comes from trying to turn the patterns into something meaningful. Or at least something I can grasp.
Sometimes the themes are so loud that they often seem to be screaming at me to pay attention. I have learned my lesson through years of practice. I take note of the literary conceit, tip my hat to it, acknowledging, “Yes, yes, hon, I see you, I see you, thank you very much,” and then I do my best to pass on by.