Status: Complete
Rewind to the Memories
Aravic, I guess this is to you
Memories.
They hurt me.
They fill me with joy.
They make my eyes burn with tears.
They make me bust a gut laughing.
But lately, they’ve been reminding me of you. Constantly.
You’d probably find my situation very ironic. Me, the daughter of an aristocrat, sleeping in the streets, scrambling to find food in the day, playing my guitar at an underground French night club, depositing my meager paychecks into a back account under a false name. But how would you react…? I don’t know anymore.
I thought I used to know. I thought I was ahead in the mind game, against you, against Rachel, against the rest of the world. But I’m apparently not. It’s all been an allusion. I thought I could get away with it, and they everything fell to pieces. And now look where I am; Stealing pencils and scraps of paper to write you a note that you’ll never read. Awesome.
Looking back, I guess I did do some stupid things that any sensible person would have done. Like, locking my door when guests were in the house. I should have done that. And not ever mastering the ability to keep my mouth shut. I should have learned that skill too.
But I always thought that maybe, just maybe, the mind game was something I could win. I thought I was in total control. But now as I sit here, in this alleyway of filth and pouring through my memories, I’ve found it was backwards. You were in control, and you still are. I did things to conform to you, whether it was consciously or not. My thoughts dwell on you constantly, and I don’t know why. It’s actually really annoying, because most of my memories of you are painful.
Oh sure, there are some good memories. The day we put Antonio in jail defiantly counts. Because quite honestly, that was one of the best days of my LIFE. The times we spent in Boston with my real family weren’t that bad either. I still smile at your reaction when Alexander told you you were one of the hottest men he knew. Absolutely priceless. Even the beginning of the night when I left wasn’t that bad. It was playful, and almost like we were actually friends, not just two people forced to live with each other. And the night after the initiation…..well, it’s not painful or good, but I just felt so….oh, never mind. Why the hell should I explain myself to you?
But that’s all you are now, is a memory. I’ll never see you again, that’s for sure. You live the high aristocratic life now. You’re married. You run one of the most influential companies on the planet, although, I don’t know how you stand my father. I almost have all the money I need to fly to Paris and stay there. And when I do, I’m going to leave all these memories – painful memories, your memories – here in this cardboard refrigerator box. So I can stop rewinding to the memories again and again, because I don’t want to anymore.
~Sam
They hurt me.
They fill me with joy.
They make my eyes burn with tears.
They make me bust a gut laughing.
But lately, they’ve been reminding me of you. Constantly.
You’d probably find my situation very ironic. Me, the daughter of an aristocrat, sleeping in the streets, scrambling to find food in the day, playing my guitar at an underground French night club, depositing my meager paychecks into a back account under a false name. But how would you react…? I don’t know anymore.
I thought I used to know. I thought I was ahead in the mind game, against you, against Rachel, against the rest of the world. But I’m apparently not. It’s all been an allusion. I thought I could get away with it, and they everything fell to pieces. And now look where I am; Stealing pencils and scraps of paper to write you a note that you’ll never read. Awesome.
Looking back, I guess I did do some stupid things that any sensible person would have done. Like, locking my door when guests were in the house. I should have done that. And not ever mastering the ability to keep my mouth shut. I should have learned that skill too.
But I always thought that maybe, just maybe, the mind game was something I could win. I thought I was in total control. But now as I sit here, in this alleyway of filth and pouring through my memories, I’ve found it was backwards. You were in control, and you still are. I did things to conform to you, whether it was consciously or not. My thoughts dwell on you constantly, and I don’t know why. It’s actually really annoying, because most of my memories of you are painful.
Oh sure, there are some good memories. The day we put Antonio in jail defiantly counts. Because quite honestly, that was one of the best days of my LIFE. The times we spent in Boston with my real family weren’t that bad either. I still smile at your reaction when Alexander told you you were one of the hottest men he knew. Absolutely priceless. Even the beginning of the night when I left wasn’t that bad. It was playful, and almost like we were actually friends, not just two people forced to live with each other. And the night after the initiation…..well, it’s not painful or good, but I just felt so….oh, never mind. Why the hell should I explain myself to you?
But that’s all you are now, is a memory. I’ll never see you again, that’s for sure. You live the high aristocratic life now. You’re married. You run one of the most influential companies on the planet, although, I don’t know how you stand my father. I almost have all the money I need to fly to Paris and stay there. And when I do, I’m going to leave all these memories – painful memories, your memories – here in this cardboard refrigerator box. So I can stop rewinding to the memories again and again, because I don’t want to anymore.
~Sam
♠ ♠ ♠
ok, so that was probably REALLY confusing, but the only idea I got was a letter between two of my characters in Music Girl, and I need to think of a way to make this story not seen until I get to a certain point in Music Girl. But I like it ^^Comments?