Dear Diary,
"Old enough to understand..."
Maybe now it's hitting me.
As I turn eighteen I see things clearly.
Maybe that's why I've been sitting here,
Crying for what feels like an eternity.
I'm glad that blondie left me.
I'm glad because I finally see,
All those times, he was never really meant for me.
I'm glad for the pain I'm experiencing.
It's nice to know that I was honest
When we hugged for the last time, crying,
I told him that I'd miss him, and he said it back.
Old enough to understand his position.
Old enough to understand how he felt.
Old enough to understand how he thought.
Old enough to appreciate he said no, for my sake.
And old enough...
To miss him for it.
Old enough to forget what he sounds like.
Old enough to forget his smell.
Old enough to barely remember his face.
But young enough to cry about it anyway.
Old enough to quit imaging.
Old enough to live in the present
And yet somehow here I am,
Crying because I can't remember him anymore.
Young enough to wonder if he remembers how we met.
Or the first time we held hands.
But old enough to remember why he said no time and time again.
Old and young, the two of us, that's what we were.
