Somewhere in the quiet of 12:37am, I am re-reading pages of you I have written some time between two summers ago and yesterday.
I don’t talk to anyone during this time. At least not anymore. I just sit idly by in the corner of my bed writing these thoughts down, ignoring messages, trying to go through old thoughts and conversations you and I used to exchange.
I wonder why people are like that, how they get so hung up over one person even though the thought of you probably never ran through their mind once.
But I’m not sad about it, at least not anymore.
You and I, we were one of those great things that never happened. I have grown to accept that. I have grown to acknowledge the fact that sometimes, people can make you so incredibly happy at one point in your life, so incredibly motivated, and inspired, and yet some factor will allow them to voluntarily walk away and you would have absolutely no control over it. You would have absolutely no power in the world to stop circumstances like that from ever happening to you.
So you sit there, and watch them live a life without you thousands of miles away.
I was listening to the voice message you left me the other day when I was meeting you one morning for coffee, and you had overslept and wanted to make it up to me. I couldn’t help but laugh at your hundredth apology, and your poor attempt to try and make it up to me, and tear up just a little bit at how much I actually miss you.
It’s funny, I never used to think that you’d leave such a lasting effect.
I never would have imagined as you and I were doing our early morning routine, catching sunrise and nonchalantly laughing through our favorite bridge, sitting at the park with my head slightly rested on yours that I would no longer have the privilege of having you that close, and that intimate.
It’s amazing how crazy I was about you.
It’s even crazier how one person could know you inside and out without having to physically touch you.
They just do.