I’m confused because I’m adapting. Changing my ways, for the sake of moving on. I have some memories tucked away in a shoe box under my bed. I keep reaching for them, but every time my hand disappears beneath the frame I get scared and pull away. Afterwords, I shrink into bed and cover up. Ashamed, somewhat, of myself for trying to bring things back up. Those times have gone and passed, and no matter how much I want to enthrall myself in them, I just can’t. My blankets keep me warm. I wrap myself until I feel safe. Slowly I bring myself back to reality. My memories are just that, memories.
Letters and trinkets filled away in a familiar smelling converse shoe box. They make me feel to much at once; happy, sad, depressed, overwhelmed, confused, crazy even. I can’t look back, not now, not while I’m changing. Trying so hard to figure this all out on my own. My friends are like dust particles. Sometimes they float into the light and beckon me to catch them, but other times they fall into the darkness and disappear out of sight. When they go away, they’re gone. I don’t hear from them. They never check up on me. Sometimes I’ll get the occasional, “I need something” but other than that, nothing. I love them deeply, from the bottom of my heart.
I thought, while I was awake one night, how I could pay my friends a compliment they would never ever hear again. It would have so much meaning and heartfelt attention. It would be a moment just for us, where I could actually touch my friends heart and show them how I really felt. Now, I understand sometimes I can go to a deeper portion of the soul, but the really sad part is, I will never get something like that on return. I don’t know how that works exactly, but it hurts sometimes.
Maybe I’m just being selfish, but what can I do? I’m so upset at night. I hardly sleep, even with someone new to talk to. It’s just hard sometimes. This is more of a venting piece than anything else. I’m sorry it’s the only thing that I’ve written in a while. I’ve been doing so well this year, as far as dealing with the things of my past. Now, I just want to move into this new chapter. I want to read the last paragraph, turn the page, and not get a paper cut.