The Older We Get, the Better We Used to Be
Torture Me With My Past
“It’s happening to you,
The way it’s happened
To every single person that has passed.
We all find ourselves fallen;
Broken in this world
Once so full of dreams
Where anything that could have been
We now realize can never be.
Silent Decay.”
He opened his eyes at the last line, looking back at those who watched him. This is what his therapist called a “healing method”.
“Hey, man. What did you say you name was?”
He hesitated. “…Frank Iero.”
“I’m glad to have you as an addition, Frank. Talent has found you.” The café owner shook his black hair out of his eyes, smiling as he gestured Frank back to his seat.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad to read your thoughts to strangers. In a way, these people weren’t strangers. They were people who shared the same pain, fear, hopes, and dreams. Frank found his seat and marveled at how the atmosphere of the room changed from longing for love to mourning; from being hopeful for a change in the world to remorse for things you can never change. He didn’t think he would have been interested enough to stay until the end.
“As is always a tradition, Jen will recite a poem to end the night. If you would, Jennifer…”
The woman he addressed blushed at the mention of her name and stood. In her hand was
a small spiral notebook with a blue butterfly etched into the black leather.
Frank was looked her over with faintly familiar eyes when he felt a sudden drowsiness overwhelm his senses. He yawned while reaching for his cup of coffee, hoping it might help.
Frank noted she was quite beautiful with her smooth, pale skin and layered brown hair that was straight and reached to just below his shoulders. She smiled then, which gave her a slight glow, even though he could see her shaking with anxiety.
Frank’s eyes slipped closed at that point; his sleep depravity cornered him until he finally submitted to it.
Curtains were drawn closed all around him. He heard her voice. “What was I thinking? I just wanted to show you something special…”
Frank closed his eyes then, darkness taking over his sense of sight. “You are beautiful. No matter what you’re wearing, eh? Let me…” He reached out blindly and his fingers brushed over exposed skin, finally finding her hand which he kissed softly. “…Prove it to you.”
She told him to open his eyes and he obeyed, meeting her honey colored eyes. He place his other hand on the side of her face, moving his fingers into the wild mess of curls he adored so much. She spoke. “I love you… I’m sorry it ended the way it did. I’d be with you if I could. I would take it all back. I mean it. I swear this time I mean it-”
“Excuse me, sir. Frank?”
The memory-dream was torn from him then, but he wasn’t awake yet; just aware.
“Gerard, don’t worry. I’ll stay and close the café. Go home and take care of Bert.”
Frank began to wake up when he heard the bells on the back door jingle. Jen heard a yawn and looked over at the stranger, wondering what his story could be.
Frank walked down Washington Avenue until he found the address Jen had written on the card of a bookstore; Pages and Paragraphs. This was her sister’s store and this was where she would be releasing her first book.
Once inside, he got his hands on a copy. The cover looked like a familiar scene, so familiar he started shaking. It was their tree; their place. She promised she’d never bring anyone else there, that it would be theirs forever. No matter what happened between them.
It couldn’t be her, that Jen wasn’t the same Jennifer he had loved. She had grown up. He stared at the book. He’d been running away from her for years and she slipped back into his life without him even realizing. He should have known better when he heard her voice. How could he not recognize her voice?
How could she not recognize him?
He knew the reasons for both. They’d both changed their appearances. He cut off all his hair and dyed it black, while she had straightened out her curls. God, it couldn’t be her.
He opened the book and read the dedication. The Older We Get The Better We Used To Be. Written for Frank; because this is how our story should have been.
He rushed over to where she was, but she was reading the back cover of her book aloud.
“A memory is an echo of what has made us who we are now. The faint laughter of what we miss, the cries playing over in our ears of something worth feeling again. Whether it’s because it hurt so much or because it meant the world to us; the feeling was so strong is echoes throughout our lives, even if we don’t want it to. We still dream about what could never happen or what we can never change because a person starts dying when they stop dreaming. We please our hearts with dreams and hopes because life couldn’t. This is a story about a girl who dreamed so much about love, she let it slip away when she actually had a chance.”
Frank strode up to her, looked at the eyes of the girl his heart still ached for. He recognized her instantly. “I’m glad you kept the notebook, Jen. I hope you make a lot of money off our story. I hope they fucking adore us.”
He walked out before she could say anything and found himself at a bus stop; running away again. It would never be the bliss they had. It would always be this regretful, painful, sorrow. It was the only way for them to realize, they never knew how good what they had was until they had thrown it all away.
The way it’s happened
To every single person that has passed.
We all find ourselves fallen;
Broken in this world
Once so full of dreams
Where anything that could have been
We now realize can never be.
Silent Decay.”
He opened his eyes at the last line, looking back at those who watched him. This is what his therapist called a “healing method”.
“Hey, man. What did you say you name was?”
He hesitated. “…Frank Iero.”
“I’m glad to have you as an addition, Frank. Talent has found you.” The café owner shook his black hair out of his eyes, smiling as he gestured Frank back to his seat.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad to read your thoughts to strangers. In a way, these people weren’t strangers. They were people who shared the same pain, fear, hopes, and dreams. Frank found his seat and marveled at how the atmosphere of the room changed from longing for love to mourning; from being hopeful for a change in the world to remorse for things you can never change. He didn’t think he would have been interested enough to stay until the end.
“As is always a tradition, Jen will recite a poem to end the night. If you would, Jennifer…”
The woman he addressed blushed at the mention of her name and stood. In her hand was
a small spiral notebook with a blue butterfly etched into the black leather.
Frank was looked her over with faintly familiar eyes when he felt a sudden drowsiness overwhelm his senses. He yawned while reaching for his cup of coffee, hoping it might help.
Frank noted she was quite beautiful with her smooth, pale skin and layered brown hair that was straight and reached to just below his shoulders. She smiled then, which gave her a slight glow, even though he could see her shaking with anxiety.
Frank’s eyes slipped closed at that point; his sleep depravity cornered him until he finally submitted to it.
Curtains were drawn closed all around him. He heard her voice. “What was I thinking? I just wanted to show you something special…”
Frank closed his eyes then, darkness taking over his sense of sight. “You are beautiful. No matter what you’re wearing, eh? Let me…” He reached out blindly and his fingers brushed over exposed skin, finally finding her hand which he kissed softly. “…Prove it to you.”
She told him to open his eyes and he obeyed, meeting her honey colored eyes. He place his other hand on the side of her face, moving his fingers into the wild mess of curls he adored so much. She spoke. “I love you… I’m sorry it ended the way it did. I’d be with you if I could. I would take it all back. I mean it. I swear this time I mean it-”
“Excuse me, sir. Frank?”
The memory-dream was torn from him then, but he wasn’t awake yet; just aware.
“Gerard, don’t worry. I’ll stay and close the café. Go home and take care of Bert.”
Frank began to wake up when he heard the bells on the back door jingle. Jen heard a yawn and looked over at the stranger, wondering what his story could be.
-
Frank walked down Washington Avenue until he found the address Jen had written on the card of a bookstore; Pages and Paragraphs. This was her sister’s store and this was where she would be releasing her first book.
Once inside, he got his hands on a copy. The cover looked like a familiar scene, so familiar he started shaking. It was their tree; their place. She promised she’d never bring anyone else there, that it would be theirs forever. No matter what happened between them.
It couldn’t be her, that Jen wasn’t the same Jennifer he had loved. She had grown up. He stared at the book. He’d been running away from her for years and she slipped back into his life without him even realizing. He should have known better when he heard her voice. How could he not recognize her voice?
How could she not recognize him?
He knew the reasons for both. They’d both changed their appearances. He cut off all his hair and dyed it black, while she had straightened out her curls. God, it couldn’t be her.
He opened the book and read the dedication. The Older We Get The Better We Used To Be. Written for Frank; because this is how our story should have been.
He rushed over to where she was, but she was reading the back cover of her book aloud.
“A memory is an echo of what has made us who we are now. The faint laughter of what we miss, the cries playing over in our ears of something worth feeling again. Whether it’s because it hurt so much or because it meant the world to us; the feeling was so strong is echoes throughout our lives, even if we don’t want it to. We still dream about what could never happen or what we can never change because a person starts dying when they stop dreaming. We please our hearts with dreams and hopes because life couldn’t. This is a story about a girl who dreamed so much about love, she let it slip away when she actually had a chance.”
Frank strode up to her, looked at the eyes of the girl his heart still ached for. He recognized her instantly. “I’m glad you kept the notebook, Jen. I hope you make a lot of money off our story. I hope they fucking adore us.”
He walked out before she could say anything and found himself at a bus stop; running away again. It would never be the bliss they had. It would always be this regretful, painful, sorrow. It was the only way for them to realize, they never knew how good what they had was until they had thrown it all away.