Poems and Other Shit

The Last Word - Journal Entry 4

This will be the last entry I write on you. You were there from sixteen to nineteen, but no more. I have been struggling to erase you from my memory. And saddened that my inspiration has fizzled. Your rejection hurt. I loved you, I know that now. The last strings have been cut and I thought of you exactly zero times whilst I was away. And now that I am sober from your intoxication, I look back and see a patient, innocent girl, with a heart too big. And I see a confused boy, stumbling, flirting, hurting.

I got on a plane, all by myself. Me, the shy and insecure girl. I've never even been to Sydney, but I booked my own flights and I traveled to India, solo. I thought of you exactly zero times whilst I was away, and when I came back, my mind was suddenly filled with more important things and big ideas.

But then, a simple message. You wanted me to join your university netball team. No hi, no inquires as to how I am, no curious messages about my time away, the things I saw, the people I met, the places I went. I don't think you cared, perhaps just wanted to make up numbers. I politely declined.

India gave me a lot of things, a whole book worth and heart full of things. Some of that was time away from you, time to think, time to discover and be free. And when I came back, and I sat in my room slumped deep into the effects of culture shock, I still did not think of you once. I have seen something of the world now, something outside of you and the way you made me feel. I have walked through the slums, sat with children who bathed in drains, showered with a bucket, eaten rice three meals a day. I have spent hours dowsed in sweat and dust, my nostrils filled with the smell of poor sanitation, pigs and rubbish, and I have held the hands of slum children, and watched their eyes light up, and loved these little people more than I ever thought it were possible.

And when I saw you by chance two weeks after I returned, in a car park late at night, I stopped walking. I watched you park, anticipated our small talk. You saw that I had stopped walking, and from the safety of your car, the brake lights went out and you drove across the car park and pulled into a park right away from me. It was late, I was walking completely alone, and the car park was empty. It was just you and I.

I smiled at your petty action, for I refused to feel rejected anymore. I waved goodbye and turned and walked into the dark. I'm still not sure what that was about, and I kind of don't care. it happened again one night, outside of my favourite bar. I was tipsy, and overly eager to see you. But you kept walking, and that is okay.

Ever since India, my heart and mind have been shaken, opened, changed. I feel like I have been refreshed, reinvigorated. I know now that there are more important things then boys, and it's not me wanting to feel this way - it's me feeling this way.

And I realise, this entry has become more about myself than you, about what I've done and who I'm becoming and how I feel without you. And I'm okay with that.