Chronology of Me
A Change in Scenery
I never really know why I come back here.
Visits 8 months apart. This time years.
Sometimes it stings to look back and see how I thought things were changing.
To think that I was kissing beautiful girls, spending nights with their sleeping faces tucked against my neck.
To think that I was getting over you.
It's all pretty pathetic by now.
23 years old and still washing you down with a whiskey.
Different cities, different bedrooms, floral ceilings, perfumed sheets.
The scenery changes but the feelings never do.
It’s all just background noise for the fact that I can’t get over you.
But at least I don’t bother you.
Though sometimes, I just wish you’d check in.
But I see that you’re happy and that he loves you and that means more to me than loving you ever could.
It occurred to me that maybe I shouldn't continue this little journal anymore. This seemed like a good idea 3 years ago when the angst still licked at my wounds like acid; but now it all seems childish. The feelings that I have for you are no longer those of resentment or a dwindling hope that you might return. Instead when I look back at things like this, when I look back at you, it all seems like washed out memories from a different lifetime, maybe one I didn't even live. It pulls at something in my heartstrings and a part of me longs for those sticky summer nights when you made me feel alive, but at the same time, I think I've finally accepted that I don't need those things anymore.
Do I love you?
Of course, and I truly believe I always will.
But not like that anymore.
I'm not sure it could ever be like that anymore.
But that's a good thing, because you're so in love and so happy, and that's beautiful.
And maybe one day, I too will find that with the right person, but for right now I just want to exist.
That in itself is beautiful enough.
Visits 8 months apart. This time years.
Sometimes it stings to look back and see how I thought things were changing.
To think that I was kissing beautiful girls, spending nights with their sleeping faces tucked against my neck.
To think that I was getting over you.
It's all pretty pathetic by now.
23 years old and still washing you down with a whiskey.
Different cities, different bedrooms, floral ceilings, perfumed sheets.
The scenery changes but the feelings never do.
It’s all just background noise for the fact that I can’t get over you.
But at least I don’t bother you.
Though sometimes, I just wish you’d check in.
But I see that you’re happy and that he loves you and that means more to me than loving you ever could.
It occurred to me that maybe I shouldn't continue this little journal anymore. This seemed like a good idea 3 years ago when the angst still licked at my wounds like acid; but now it all seems childish. The feelings that I have for you are no longer those of resentment or a dwindling hope that you might return. Instead when I look back at things like this, when I look back at you, it all seems like washed out memories from a different lifetime, maybe one I didn't even live. It pulls at something in my heartstrings and a part of me longs for those sticky summer nights when you made me feel alive, but at the same time, I think I've finally accepted that I don't need those things anymore.
Do I love you?
Of course, and I truly believe I always will.
But not like that anymore.
I'm not sure it could ever be like that anymore.
But that's a good thing, because you're so in love and so happy, and that's beautiful.
And maybe one day, I too will find that with the right person, but for right now I just want to exist.
That in itself is beautiful enough.