Until We Meet Again

32. me and the memory

It's been a week since that fateful interaction, and I guess I could say I've done some self-reflection.

I told Nina some of what happened, but left out a few of the parts that make me look bad because I still need to protect myself and make sure I don't scare off my best friend. She's the only one that still has the patience for me when she's not with her boyfriend and her group of new companions.

I wish that could be me, I really do. I'm the one to blame, and I'm simply on my own.

I'm not the person I wish I was. I'm too silent for others, but my mind never seems to rest inside. I'm too much for others, but I still find myself holding back who I am. I'm dramatic, but they don't see that I just want to be heard.

I guess it's my own fault too. I treat everything like inspiration for a book I'll never write. I want excitement but when it gets to be too much, I push away. I'm known for that. Or, maybe I push too much. I push too much until there's nothing left.

Just me and the memory. I'm so fucking desperate for validation that I never know what else to do. I've done both with girls in the past, and here I am, again.

A girl who once had interest in me, but doesn't now and never will.

And everything just fucking sucks, ok? Because if I was less of my insecurities and more of myself, I might not have let anything get in the way. I might have confessed to her sooner back when we were 14.  I might have.

But it doesn't matter now, because the fake world I created in my head isn't real. It never was and never will be.

It's just me and the memory until the end.

And I know I'm still dumb for trying to trace everything back to our moments as kids, Delilah was right about that. I guess.

But it is true, isn't it? If I had told her I loved her, maybe she wouldn't have disposed of me so easily when she moved away. Maybe she would have wanted me. Maybe she would have needed me.

Then again, we were 14. Relationships don't mean anything at 14. The distance would have killed us in seconds. At 18, we both just killed each other in seconds.

Nothing makes a difference, and I'm the common denominator in all of these silly equations. I'm a bad person and that's that.

Back then and now.

Rowan told me they have feelings for me the other day. I didn't say anything back. I won't forget their hurt face as they walked out of my room, but I just didn't know what to do. The silence was painful, and what's going to happen next with them will only be worse.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that. Do I enter another relationship? Will I just fuck everything up with a new person?

I should take some time to work on myself. I should tell Rowan that I don't see them that way, which is partly true. They're a great friend, and I can't just go around losing those as I barely have any nowadays.

Am I in a hopeless state of mind? Possibly.

I have to take ownership to destroying any hopes of a friendship with Delilah, I had decided that wasn't good enough for me. Unlike Nina or Rowan or my old friends from home, I can't just see her as a friend.

I can't just go around listening to her talk about her girlfriend. I can't bear to hear about her tales of a brand new life with someone that isn't me.

Maybe I could have kept her as a friend though, and then I would have eventually convinced her to break up with her girlfriend and come back to me.

I love Delilah, but I don't think I'm actually any good at loving anyone. Manipulation isn't the right answer, nothing is.

In my room, I decide to make my way back to my desk and get off this stupid bed. I might lose myself in it if I can't just complete the simple task of moving for the sake of my mind. I sit in front of my wooden desk, and I pull out that smooth-textured journal of mine from one of my lower drawers. 

I haven't written much in a while, so much has happened. Augustine, Delilah, my fucked up mind.

Well, goodbye to the weight it's been leaving on me. I can write it down and it'll go away.

It has to.