Adieu
It's that time of the year again; the time when I suddenly just want to roll around, hate everything, and feel nothing. It's that time of the year when I just want the whole world to slow down and just stop; just let me stay here, drink my coffee, and sob over CSI. And yet, my brain does not pity me, does not spare me from the emotions that whirlwind through my mind, as I sit down in front of my laptop and remember.
There was a time when I would have gone to the moon for you without a question. If you had asked me a year ago, I would have probably only made it halfway there, realized you weren't worth it, and turned back around... and would promptly start regretting that I turned around. Now, I'm not even sure if I'd even get on the space rocket.
Things have changed; I'm not thirteen. I'm not fifteen, or seventeen, or the eighteen-year-old who foolishly dreamed you'd dance with me on my birthday. Instead of a searing pain, all I feel are dull aches, small scars, healed wounds. I suddenly realize that instead of mourning you, I should be proud and happy to have known you. Happy that there was a moment where I felt what every young girl wanted to feel; to be admired.
I have gone through seven years of petty crushes, people who could never compare to you, that immortal first love... But now, I think maybe that was the point. First loves exist to set the bar. They become your definition of love, your expectations and secret wishes, your 'what if's', and 'He was the world to me'. A first love, the true beauty of a first love, teaches you what to watch out for, teaches you to be careful next time... just in case it falls apart. And you are still lucky enough to actually feel happy, feel loved and cared for... Safe.
There was a time when I would have stolen you the whole orchestra, but now... I don't think I would even touch that Blue French horn. You were the one that got away, the first one to steal my heart, the legendary beginning... Now, you aren't. You aren't a knight in shining armor, you aren't a dream come true, because you and I... we could never happen. It's clicking into a slow resolve to me, and I suddenly start to feel more at peace. What should have stopped when I was thirteen was my mistake. My miscalculation. My obsession. I should have stopped feeling attached to you, but as I grew older, I started to understand.
I understood what could have been. I understood my feelings. My heart fell into a chaotic, beautiful, mess. One that I apologize for.
Last night, you were in my dreams again, but instead of the dreams I used to have about you, this one was different. We were hanging out, in the place we first met. You tapped me on the shoulder, you smiled at me and started talking about some techy thing. I laughed and I can't remember the last time I felt so light, so happy and free. I turned around and saw our friends just milling around but smiling, and I remember thinking that this felt right, for some reason.
This is the last time I'm going to write a blog for you, the last time I'm going to mourn. I deserve to move on and be happy, and I deserve not to have any bad memories of you. You also deserve my apologies, because I dragged on something that should have died a long time ago.
And so, for the last time, I will think about that dawn, that thing I thought was a dream, a memory I have no evidence of. I remember your hands, I remember your face, I remember your words. I remember those actions, I remember our talks, I remember our texts. I remember Pokemon games and the blue water of the pool, bubbles and Blastoises alike.
I remember your disappearance. I remember my hurt, my confusion, my anger and sadness. I remember silence. Lost looks and games of eye tag. Blank stares, and awkward silences.
But these I remember with bitterness for the last time. I will lock you away in my mind palace, all my bad memories of you, and be focused on creating new, and better ones, if given the chance. I liked my dream last night; I'm sure you would have, too. We were good friends before it all crashed down, and I feel sorry to have lost that.
I promise, the next time I see you, I will greet you with a smile. I will hold my hand out to shake yours, or pat your shoulder, or whatever, but I will smile.
But to the person I always write about... Adieu.
There was a time when I would have gone to the moon for you without a question. If you had asked me a year ago, I would have probably only made it halfway there, realized you weren't worth it, and turned back around... and would promptly start regretting that I turned around. Now, I'm not even sure if I'd even get on the space rocket.
Things have changed; I'm not thirteen. I'm not fifteen, or seventeen, or the eighteen-year-old who foolishly dreamed you'd dance with me on my birthday. Instead of a searing pain, all I feel are dull aches, small scars, healed wounds. I suddenly realize that instead of mourning you, I should be proud and happy to have known you. Happy that there was a moment where I felt what every young girl wanted to feel; to be admired.
I have gone through seven years of petty crushes, people who could never compare to you, that immortal first love... But now, I think maybe that was the point. First loves exist to set the bar. They become your definition of love, your expectations and secret wishes, your 'what if's', and 'He was the world to me'. A first love, the true beauty of a first love, teaches you what to watch out for, teaches you to be careful next time... just in case it falls apart. And you are still lucky enough to actually feel happy, feel loved and cared for... Safe.
There was a time when I would have stolen you the whole orchestra, but now... I don't think I would even touch that Blue French horn. You were the one that got away, the first one to steal my heart, the legendary beginning... Now, you aren't. You aren't a knight in shining armor, you aren't a dream come true, because you and I... we could never happen. It's clicking into a slow resolve to me, and I suddenly start to feel more at peace. What should have stopped when I was thirteen was my mistake. My miscalculation. My obsession. I should have stopped feeling attached to you, but as I grew older, I started to understand.
I understood what could have been. I understood my feelings. My heart fell into a chaotic, beautiful, mess. One that I apologize for.
Last night, you were in my dreams again, but instead of the dreams I used to have about you, this one was different. We were hanging out, in the place we first met. You tapped me on the shoulder, you smiled at me and started talking about some techy thing. I laughed and I can't remember the last time I felt so light, so happy and free. I turned around and saw our friends just milling around but smiling, and I remember thinking that this felt right, for some reason.
This is the last time I'm going to write a blog for you, the last time I'm going to mourn. I deserve to move on and be happy, and I deserve not to have any bad memories of you. You also deserve my apologies, because I dragged on something that should have died a long time ago.
And so, for the last time, I will think about that dawn, that thing I thought was a dream, a memory I have no evidence of. I remember your hands, I remember your face, I remember your words. I remember those actions, I remember our talks, I remember our texts. I remember Pokemon games and the blue water of the pool, bubbles and Blastoises alike.
I remember your disappearance. I remember my hurt, my confusion, my anger and sadness. I remember silence. Lost looks and games of eye tag. Blank stares, and awkward silences.
But these I remember with bitterness for the last time. I will lock you away in my mind palace, all my bad memories of you, and be focused on creating new, and better ones, if given the chance. I liked my dream last night; I'm sure you would have, too. We were good friends before it all crashed down, and I feel sorry to have lost that.
I promise, the next time I see you, I will greet you with a smile. I will hold my hand out to shake yours, or pat your shoulder, or whatever, but I will smile.
But to the person I always write about... Adieu.
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