Somewhere In Brooklyn

17 - November 18

I've heard of a song that reminds me of you today.

I knew it was familiar because it was the song that I heard the night I collided into you. Or more like when you bumped into me.

The song is a one big mess of pent-up frustrations, angst, and longing. It's basically about a boy telling a girl that he doesn't care what she's done on her past as long as her present and future are with him.

Because everyone has a skeleton in their closet and well, his closet is a graveyard compared to hers, so who is he to judge, right?

Though I think he should, you know. Care, I mean. Not judge. There's a difference between the two.

People should care with their partner's past. They shouldn't put that thing aside. It's not a retail thing where you just choose to stay with them in the present and future if you like it. When you choose them, you choose everything about them and that includes their past—every wrongdoing, every regret, every nightmare.

I mean, how can you love someone if their past, if their whole life, doesn't matter to you? That doesn't make any sense to me.

But then again, I don't think I've actually understand the concept of love.