Let Him Go

I guess in life we all make mistakes. From the moment we were deemed responsible for ourselves, even before that, we have all made mistakes. Sometimes they're trivial; spelling a word wrong or making a mathematical error on homework. There's a twinge of guilt, if you care about that kind of thing, and then it's over. Sometimes there are bigger mistakes. Sometimes they will affect the rest of your life, so that nothing you can do will ever erase them. That's the kind of mistake that takes seconds to make and a lifetime to rectify. My life is composed of those mistakes, and I'm grateful for most of them. Without them I don't know who I would be.
Now this may be an overstatement. I won't deny that. I'm young, I have my whole life ahead of me: I haven't even gotten past school yet. I have much longer than I would like to decide who to be and where to go. I still have a thousand essays to write, a thousand exams to sit, a thousand nights to feel alive, a thousand books to read, a thousand heartbreaks to suffer, and a thousand mistakes to make. In hindsight, this one may be nothing. But what matters, and will always matter, is that it hurts now. I have decided that nows and todays are what really matters. We can live in the past and we can live in the future, but that is essentially just affecting our right-nows and our this-moments. We can't erase the past and we can't predict the future, so if I didn't hurt before, then good for me. And if I don't hurt somewhere down the line, that's great. But I hurt now. So I'm going to write about it. And if you want to, you can read about it, and perhaps that will help. I hurt so much, it's driving me insane. I don't know, maybe you feel or have felt or will feel this way too. This is my way of passing time until it gets better. So if you decide to give your right-nows to find out about my what-happened-befores, then that is all a writer could really wish for. And for your sake, for giving me your right-nows, I hope it's worth it.