SIX YEARS LATER || HS ✔️

epilogue

Dear reader,

I can most likely guess who might be scouring through these lines, just to find any valuable information, but I wanted to address it to the reader, if it isn't of whom I'm thinking. My house is not vacant, but passed down to my good friend. She'll take good care of the house, but that's not in my possession, anymore, sadly.

This house has interesting memories; some of dramatic blabber, as well as so many tears shed. Anyways, I want to leave this short and simple, but I know it might have some pen smudges, as well as longing paragraphs that could go on for days.

Throughout my life, there hasn't been very many stages of where I reconsidered my life and what the hell I was doing. But this, this is one of those few moments; mainly two were involved with my ex-lover, whom I predict is reading this. If not, sorry to burst your bubble, but in all of a quick story, we fell in love, shit happened, and we were done. Six years later, we find ourselves with our eyes full of love, but actions doing too much.

And this is what I realized; one of the hardest things I have done in my life was to grieve the loss of a person who is still alive. One, of which, I'm doing in this moment, every second of every minute, of every day. I miss this ex-lover of mine, terribly. I fell apart because of him, but everything seemed to be pieced back together when we were brought once again. Almost, as if it was fate.

Distance is a rarity, and I think since I have the freedom to use it, it's a must. To clear my mind, as well as possibly let go of things that were meant to be. It takes so much out of me to admit that I still do love him, leaving me breathless. How crazy it is of when I tell my friends and family this story, leading them to think it was some sort of fairytale; when all in all, it was actually personal.

'It didn't work out' are the sort of four words that make me feel numb, even when they shouldn't. They're the way love ends, and the way the heartache story begins. I look back a few years on it from now, seeing how my hair would be much shorter and my nail-biting would be ceased. And, I'll run into someone who I knew back then; back when I was seventeen and his. And people will ask me how I am and have been doing, and still of what happened.

What happened, because oh my God, I was so in love. The kind of love that I think ever goes away, until it does. And, I'll play it all back in my head, even though I probably haven't thought of it in years, and it'll rush back and wash over me, and I'll take in every 'I love you' and every kiss, and every intertwined finger, and wrap it all up, and press it between the letters of the words, 'it didn't work out.' I won't talk about it the first night we met, and how I never laughed so hard in my life.

I won't talk about sleeping in his bedroom floor of when his mother barged in. I won't bring up the way he made it feel like I wasn't going to die and with him, I never wanted to. Everything I was and everything I had was gone. It just didn't work out, but I know that it could have. I'll never love anyone the way I loved him.

Waiting is depressing, but distance is tempting.

Thank you for listening to my delirious rant,

Brooklyn.