{ONGOING}
Is it still the same? I don't know. I've put in a lot of efforts to make sure it isn't, but never succeeded. Hell, even Justin and his songs couldn't work their magic. But...
Why is he here?
Why now?
But...how? Just-how?
You know how when...
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I sleep tonight after having a nice decent diner-which I didn't have after my parent's twentieth marriage anniversary.
When we got back after watching the sun, setting ever so gracefully down the western horizon, Daniel insisted that I have dinner with him in his dining hall. And I had to comply, because as much as it all still feels surreal, he's happy having me around.
There had been nights, and days, I spent wanting, wishing, waiting, that things turn out nice and happy. Back then, I didn't know what that awful feeling was-that he didn't want to talk with me and that he'd probably forgotten that I'd been still there, that I was still a creature of blood and flesh in one piece who'd spent a few years with him in his middle school-which, I thought, was probably the most unfortunate for him. And me.
Yet, I was there, still wanting, wishing. And waiting. But in reality, I knew that it never even mattered. Because, he had Samantha, he always had Samantha, whether he knew it or not, and I was. . . I was just a pain in his a$$. And I know he knew it too.
It hurt. It hurt, nonetheless, and I knew that I shouldn't have held onto him, to everything he'd said a few times before-once upon a time, maybe. I questioned myself, whether I was sick, really sick, as in I needed therapy and a psychologist and all that jazz. I wondered if I was mental.
Mental, because I just couldn't find an answer to why I couldn't just accept the truth and let him go. No, not because I loved him. I didn't love him. I'm not really sure if I ever did, honestly. The very concept of love seemed all too confusing and complicated for me. So, I didn't want to throw away something like that on him. He did, though. And I knew what it did to me, so I wasn't ever going to do something like that to him.
But I did know that I cared about him. I really cared about him- a little too much, for my own good. But I wondered that, if I only cared about him, it shouldn't have been that hard to let go, right? I should've been able to move on. And I should've been easily able to go my own way and get on with my life. Not his.
