I Could Write It Better Than You Ever Felt It

About a month passed. The night that Alex and I had laid in my bed together was the last time I saw him in person. He was no where to be found the next morning, as was expected. My plan had worked thus far. But I didn't really feel much better.

I really have nothing to say about the past month. It was long and dull and the days dragged on. I deleted all my fan fiction. I couldn't listen to All Time Low. It gave me an uneasy, nervous feeling that I couldn't quite explain.

The journal remained untouched in the center of my desk. I avoided looking at it, but I'm sure there was a thin layer of dust forming on the front cover.

I had done a pretty good job of convincing myself that I wasn't crazy. I still truly did believe in everything that happened. Many nights I was temped to open the journal and start writing. I missed Alex. I wanted to tell him everything. But I knew I couldn't do that anymore. I couldn't take the easy way out, and rearrange everyone else's lives in the process. It was up to fate now. And that thought alone made me feel both idiotic and depressed.

Adjusting to my normal life again was like sucking out every ounce of joy from my brain. I felt drained. Like I had just taken a ride on a crazy roller-coaster and then had to visit a library right after. Hm, weird example... Well, you get the idea. I cursed myself for all of the times when I had wished I was home instead of on that tour bus.

Another two months passed. Eventually, I got to a point where it was easy not to think about it. Almost like a bad break-up. My days seemed to get a little more brighter and I could focus on the positive instead of always dwelling on the confusing past. I still missed Alex, that was a given. But a think a small part of me really believed that he wasn't coming back. People go their entire lives without finding a 'soulmate'. People spend their entire lives miserable and thinking 'what if'? Why was I any exception? What made me so special? This was slowly becoming my philosophy. I finally moved the journal, shoving it into a drawer and out of my sight. I guess you could say I was a little bitter towards the universe. Who invented words like fate and destiny anyway? Who was spreading these lies?

But the more I despised the universe, the more it seemed to retaliate. One evening I was getting ready to go out with friends. Clothes were strew all over my room as an online playlist blared out of my laptop. It was the first outing in a long time that I was participating in, and the music was calming my nerves. Until I heard it.

I smiled at the catchy guitar in the intro, making a mental note to catch the name of the artist before the song was over. That wasn't necessary, however, because soon enough-before I had time to leap across my messy room to switch the music-Alex's voice filled my ears for the first time in months. It was overwhelming.

Once I heard it, I couldn't bare to turn it off. I leaned against my wall and slid to the floor, as every single memory flooded back into my brain. I had to stop myself from sobbing as I listened to his sweet words.

"Me and you,
living under a paper moon
This real life just isn't right
Let's get away..."