Split Sides

Little Things

I was watching the news just now
When I saw the announcement
That your favorite band will be holding a concert
Here in my hometown.
It's been ages since we last spoke,
And obviously you don't know me anymore,
Much less care about how I'm doing,
But seeing that reminded me
Of the little things we used to have.
Those days and nights we spent
Learning of each other's dreams and fears,
Pet loves and pet hates,
And our secrets and frustrations,
Whether around us or inside us.
It seems like a lifetime ago
When all these things
Felt vividly powerful,
As if our ties had a life of their own.
But sadly, this love that was once so real
Is as static as a museum piece
That's been relegated to the backroom.
A tragic, forlorn fate
To this bond we had
Once thought would lead us to the future.
They were the band you loved with a passion
I've never seen from everyone else.
They were the band you'd save money for
And fight with family and friends
Just to see them live.
I still recall that moment, deep in our little cocoon,
When you told me that you love them,
But that if you had to choose,
You'd rather spend time with me than see them.
I think about that, and I feel a spark ignite
In that cavernous void
Where my heart used to be.
In fact, as I say that, I feel my eyes
Acquiring a strange sensation
And I have to stop myself,
Because I still feel your love,
Or rather a pale shade of it,
Now, as it was back then,
Even if you're not around to give it anymore.
I can't forget the hurt you left me with,
But saying that, I can't forget the love either,
Simply because nobody has ever loved me
In the manner and purpose you did.
Nobody before you loved me the way you did,
And I'm certain nobody will love me that way since.
Do I still love you? Do I hate you?
Do I miss you? Do I regret you?
Do I want you back? Would I even let you back?
Do I want you to suffer the pain you put me through?
Or do I see you as an old, forgotten photograph
Left behind in an abandoned attic?
I can't rightly say.
Maybe it's none of the above, or all of the above,
It's funny to believe in so many
Contradicting ideas simultaneously,
But I suppose that's the true mark of maturity.
This is a debate I must live with
For the rest of my life.
I don't know what has happened to you,
Or if you still love them, or if you've move on from them.
I don't know how you see our love from your end today,
And I don't know the kind of questions you grapple with,
But this I know:
Whenever I see them or hear them,
I'll always think of you and how you once were.
An old marker to remind me
Of the little things we used to have.