One night, she poured it all out. And I listened. And I told her everything I thought and everything I felt, good and bad for better or for worse. I gave the greatest psychoanalysis of my brief career up to that point.
"Why do you always have to be so right about everything with me?" she said. She sounded like she was crying. Maybe she was.
And it was true. Regardless of how awful the situation was that I had just described to her. Or how hopeless, and pointless, and just how fucking sad it all was. How we talked for hours wondering why we made the decisions we did to get here.
It was true. I was right. I had always been right, she had just never listened.
But nothing ever changed.
People rarely know how much they truly care about somebody until they are inches away from losing that person for forever. Most of them choose to let go anyways.
I am chasing a feeling that I am unsure is even possible to get back. A feeling, hidden among starry summer nights, tangled in phone lines and cool bedsheets, in the bottom of your stomach that you aren't sure where it's coming from or when it even started, but you know you never want it to go away.
If these are the best days of our lives then what the fuck comes next.
You are stuck in my head along with a combination of trite song lyrics and the lingering thought that this is all a lost cause.
"So how much longer do you think you guys will be together?" I ask curiously. She deserves better. She might make poor decisions, but she deserves better.
"Five months," she says.
"Really? You guys are on the verge of breaking up day to day, and you're going to drag it out for five months?" I wonder why she would do this to herself. Routines are hard to break. Maybe she's just afraid of not having somebody around. She seems like the needy type.
She asks if I would like to get together and study before the final. I gladly agree to. She gives me her phone number. I get the idea she is being slightly flirtatious, and I'm totally okay with that.
Today the horoscope read "Do not want something simply because it belongs to someone else."
Doctor's appointment in the morning. I am curious and I am afraid as to what the verdict is going to be. I know he'll have something he thinks will help, but often these are hit or miss. There have been numerous occasions where I have ended up feeling worse than before, and I have to start back at square one. This is a war, but I can do this. I will do this.
I miss the days when I could walk down the road and breathe in the summer air, not caring about yesterday, or tomorrow. I could slip my shoes off, and sit on the edge of the pool, talking about everything and nothing until the stars came out and it was time to leave. I miss laying in bed watching you sleep, your smell barely noticeable from my side of the mattress, but still strong enough to work its way into my brain. You would smile in your sleep. I often wonder if I do that, because it's so hard to smile when I'm awake. We drove to the top of the mountain, and threw all the campaign signs you were supposed to display over the edge, because there wasn't enough room in the backseat. The long car rides to the opposite end of the city that were completely worth it. The late trips to Starbucks where you would make fun of me for ordering a cold drink in the wintertime. Countless concerts, endless kisses. Standing in moonlit driveways while our friends wondered what was taking us so long. What was taking us so long? What has taken me so long?
Sometimes I wonder if these memories are mine. They feel so far away, and they seem to grow more and more faint. These girls no longer exist. These moments no longer occur. I have photographs, trinkets, and scraps of paper with words that no longer carry any weight. Why I keep these, I do not know. Dwelling on these moments in the past seems to be so much more appealing when the present is so uninspiring and cold.
I have myself. I have chemical compounds. I have my journals. I am going to document these days to the best of my ability, because they are making me who I am, and one day, when I'm better, I will be able to look over the fairy tale that I once lived. Sometimes it is terrible, and sometimes it is beautiful, but it is still my life, and I am learning to embrace it.