It’s hard to say what you are to me; what you did to me. Someday I will be able to tell, maybe. Or perhaps someday I’ll just stop thinking about it, hopefully. You were important… or ARE you? I simply cannot put you in words. You are a fraction of a whole which was the best, funniest, most intense time I’ve ever had. But, besides that, what are you? Here comes the tricky part. There are no words, no logical train of thought, no nothing. But I know for sure that you are ANYTHING but “nothing”.
“I almost wrote a song about you today…” says my nickname. Is that all I’ve got for you? A Bowling for Soup quote does not sum up what I would like to say about you or what I would say to you. What would I have said that day? I have no idea. I guess it wasn’t such a bad thing that I did not say goodbye. What could I have said? Nothing, probably. I wouldn’t have known how to. As always, it’s the things we don’t do that we end up regretting.
Am I ashamed of what I feel? I should, and from time to time I am, but I’ve never been one to really be ashamed of things for extended periods of time. I feel what I feel and I am whatever I am, and there’s not much to do, so why be embarassed by it? Feeling shame about things that are just what they are seems to me like a total waste of time.
Truth is, you’re perfect. Well, with some mild adjustments which are not mine or anyone’s to make, you’d be perfect, at least. What am I saying? I feel weird just writing about you. What am I, 4? However, reserving some paragraphs, an entry, a wall post, would be accepting that you are a problem, would be publishing a reminder that you were at some point a SOMETHING relevant to say.
I just realized I said you are a problem. Why? I cannot tell. I know there is A problem that includes you, but what? Those mild adjustments are not so mild after all, I guess. The experience I shared with you was awesome. What I’m left to wonder is, how big of a part were you in the whole thing? Anyway, whatever it is, there’s a problem, an issue, a conflict within our shared existence that comes up everytime your name does.
I am surprised, though, at how fast it all changed for me, how fast YOU changed for me. What changed my view of the world that included the both of us, I don’t know. All I know is, right now you are something in my head. I cannot tell what, but you exist, you breathe and talk and just EXIST in my dusty little brain. I have tried to get rid of you by wrapping you in a verse or two, a farewell poem to you and everything that you consist of. I tried and nothing came out of me. What could I possibly say about you? There’s nothing to tell. You are isolated from me in every way. But then again, why are you still inside me?
And today, revisiting this, and perhaps about to publish it, giving it a whole new level of reality that I would not like to admit, I realize I sound like a 13 year old girl. That’d make me younger still. Ironic.
I almost wish you would’ve loved me too?