Sitting at home on a random night, caught between the comfort of your room and the stimulation of people. You once told me I could always call when I said I didn’t want to be a hypocrite, but I don’t know if that’s true anymore. It’s been a while. I wonder if you ever think about me, and if you do, whether it’s with fondness, distaste, or indifference.
By now you’ve probably figured out that I can never be the one to pick up the phone first, which is why it’s hard for me to believe we’ll ever see each other again. I wish there was a way we could just talk, and not have things get complicated, and not have to worry about you or me or anything between us.
Sometimes I think I’m strong enough, but I think of that call and that voice and the burning across my skin, and eventually I realize I’m only fooling myself. Just making excuses to see you again cause I miss you so much. I’m not yet used to the fact that I can’t share these songs, these experiences, this happiness with you, and it’s left me feeling incomplete.
Even now it feels like there was so much left unsaid. Like my words were always inadequate to the burden of my heart cause I was never able to convince you of how special you were and how much I loved you. But time is teaching me that you knew, and that nothing would ever have been enough.
Not long ago, I realized it’s not just you I can’t stop thinking about, it’s all of my past, from insignificant instances to major events. If only you weren’t one of the only things worth remembering, and I wasn’t trying so desperately to forget.