Only squirrels care.
But I can see you-
Your brown skin shining in the sun
You got your hair combed back and your
Sunglasses on, baby
And I can tell you my love for you
Will still be strong after the boys of
Summer have gone
My roommate is crazy about these so-called philosophical questions that are supposed to be so endless that they clear the mind just pondering about them. If a tree falls in the forest… The clapping of one hand. That kind. Personally, I find them outright pointless because they blatantly ignore the obvious answer. However, here’s one of my own that I just can’t seem to get rid of.
Why is it, that every single fucking love song reminds me of her. The stupidest ones up front. No really, what the fuck? My progress on getting over her has stagnated, and in these matters you are going backwards if you aren’t going forward. It’s fucking killing me. Sure you know it: the mental, agreeing little nod whenever you hear this sappy shit. Yeah, our love is forever. We were meant to be.
Oh fuck me, here’s another: Why did she have to leave? Why did she run off with this other guy? Why why why didn’t she come talk to me instead? I would have listened. I would have understood that this was a pressing problem and things needed to change. Instead, she went and told some other little fuck, and oh how understanding he was. A good listener, a playful comrade, a dear friend and FUCKING DEAD if I ever run into him, which I am slowly starting to hope I will. Maybe breaking his teeth will allow me to move on. I feel like picking up kick boxing just for that purpose, just to match his pain with mine when I get the chance to. I hope a friend will be near to hold my knife, I don’t feel like jail much.
The main reason why I am running up the walls yet again after thinking I had gracefully gotten past that part, is that she is closer to me now than she has been in a long time. No, I still haven’t actually seen her, despite my wretched wishes for that to happen. She’s just taken a habit of sending me text messages for things she would think are important for me, as if she’s got her eye on the job opening of guardian angel. It’s not enough that she’s my dysfunctional sexual reference or my oversensitive conscience whenever I even glance in the direction of the opposite sex.
Also, my stuff that was left behind at her place after I lived there for a month, has arrived. Just some non-essential shit that I never got around to moving. Among them are some of the things she made. She loves -excuse me, loved- to do that. A life-sized collage of photo’s and autumn leaves, postcards,… things like that.
One of those is a book of pictures that she took, of a very personal kind. Of course, I had to leaf through it, and I probably shouldn’t have. It just… broke me all over again. Like most girls, she was always very self-conscious and for her to open up for me like this, was a gesture of unmatched proportion, in my eyes. As far as I was concerned, it were the most beautiful pictures ever taken- still are, in fact. To know that she simply… tossed aside this kind of submittance, or worse, turned it to someone else, made my heart shrink.
7 years. We were 14. We grew up together, we grew together. We were part of each other, we were entwined. We taught each other, learned our lessons together. Somewhere along the line, all this was betrayed. I had my part in it but fuck you, I didn’t go somewhere else. That’s something I will never be guilty of, and she will.
I know she would want me to keep these things. The book in particular, because it meant a lot to her too and most likely still does.
But… How?? How am I supposed to? If I’m going to open this next year, it will destroy me. Five years from now, it still will. As far as I’m concerned, this book shows exactly what I lost with her. The way we were opened to one another, and how it burned.
I gave them to my sister. While going through my things, I passed them to her, one by one, like a blood let. More bitter with each stirred memory. She said she would keep them for me but when we were done, I asked her to throw them away. There’s just no way I would ever be coming back for them, and it’s not like I could hand them back to my ex, fuck she might actually pass them on to someone else like she did with so goddamn much that I gave her.
I’m not sure where they are. Were they destroyed or kept, I don’t know. I don’t want to know. It’s better this way. Not good though, not in the least, but better. It’s a start.
If a man has gotten used to being miserable, is he fine? If he has grown used to going to work half asleep so that he doesn’t have to lay awake, alone in bed, does it make him strong? If he is starting to believe that half of the past 7 years were nothing but lies, is he ready to move on? If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?