- You always put verbs as the start of your sentence. You barely use pronounces.
- Blueberry cheesecake & cheese ice cream.
- Rice and spaghetti go together.
- “Am”. You get it.
- “How were your exams?” “That’s good to hear.”
- We are kindred spirits.
You know what? I should stop this. I should stop writing about you. This is not healthy. It fucking helps me remember everything about you and what we’ve been through. It’s not good for me. You’re not good for me. I have to stop this. I’m going to get nowhere if I keep this up. Everything feels as if they all just happened yesterday. How can I get the memories to stop flushing themselves back every single time someone mentions your name?
The hole is still so deep. The wound is still so fresh. Your name is still engraved. A little faded around the edges, but still debosed badly in my system. So fuck you, and fuck your effect on me.
Back to number 7 though. Yeah. I guess you could say that we are kindred spirits, and I guess I could attest to the fact that yeah, you were right when you told me that soon, I would find a new kindred spirit.
But you would still be the first, I guess.
Hi. So… how are you? I know we haven’t spoken in a while, so I’ve decided to drop you a message. You don’t need to reply, though. I know you can’t, and I also do know I shouldn’t be sending this at all, but I can’t help it.
Sometimes, when I’m all alone, I end up missing you. I think about you and all we’ve been through the past 2 years. Kinda crazy, isn’t it? I feel so stupid thinking back to all of what used to be and how it could have been, but couldn’t be, all because of one event. It changed my life. It changed my life in two different ways, there were negative effects; one of which was you being taken away from me. But the beneficial one is that I knew how you felt about me, I finally knew. I keep thinking and wanting to believe that we DID have a past, and that we DID happen, whether or not we were aware of it.
I miss your complaints about work. I miss your anxiety attacks. I miss your, “how was your test?” questions. I miss your rounds. I miss your “that’s nice to know” comments. How are you? Where are you working now? Have you been on trips lately? I keep wishing you are missing me too.
Do you ever think of me when you’re lonely? Have you cried while doing so? Did you ever think things could go the other way around? Do you still smile when you see my name? Do you still think of me every time you think of Simple Line? This is stupid, I know. I’m back to wishful thinking… the thing is; I never really left that stage. With you, it was constant wishing. I never really got what I wanted.
Things will never be the same after you. Because after you, I believed all things were possible. Just a lot of determination, hard work, and perseverance will get you the prize… and a lot of flirting too. So, thanks? Thanks for making me believe in the impossible. Thanks for loving me back.
You are my inconsistency. You are the shape of the moon for it changes every night. You are the calendar, different every day. You are the music on the radio for it’s always on shuffle. You are the way my hair stands every time I wake up, on the left side, on the right at times. You are the way my mom reacts; angry then mad then sad then happy. I never know which is which. You are the time of sunset… with a difference by a minute each day. You may have been inconsistent, but the thought of you never was.
She is my unfinished business. We were never together, but it surely felt like we were. There was something about her that set her to that certain state of ‘almost’. She was my dead star, still bright and shining, yet so far away and impossible to reach. But the thing is, I’m already happy now. I’m perfectly happy in my current relationship but why is it that I must always return to the thought of you? That at least once in a while, her name will pop out of nowhere and my mind will suddenly go bizurk with all the thoughts rushing through it? No, no. What am I thinking? I must set myself to only one path. That is the path without her. She was a disease, a severe case of endless hoping. But soon, that disease treated itself. I wasn’t hoping anymore.
She is my unfinished business; and she must remain that way.