Imagine a wound on the flesh, stubborn from healing. Whenever the cut closed, it would only be a matter of time before a stray memory splits it open with a fresh sting.
I had that wound.
Patched it, heaped on it salves of rationality and a nod to reality... But to no avail. It was independent from my will, and left me feeling wretched. I thought that I could never be truly freed from it... it had been a part of me for a long time.
Today, I found it shut. The fresh skin was no longer superficial and is sealed proper. I thought of every memory that would had ripped it open violently. Nothing. It remained sealed.
Yet the gloom remained with me still. How could one be left untouched by one's experiences? While it may have healed, the time it took had you breathing sullied air. Would I be carefree now again? How? The remnants still reside in my lungs, and I do not know when I could be purged of this.
Yet this I know is true... speck by speck, the sadness is leaving me.
This was written a few months ago. And the last line is true... the clouds in my heart are lifting. I'm starting to see myself again.
We don't know each other anymore, do we? Speckles, no, layers of dust and scratches adorned what we were. Though how abrupt it was; for a friendship that took time, to be crumbled by a flash of dynamite and a successions of small things done or said wrongly.
It had been a tough road of not knowing, and I'd be silly to not acknowledge my observations. My fuel had been not-knowing and of memories... time to bring out the hard facts. Despite your opinions (what you want), reality goes on. I'm still the same person, but a harder one than before. I've come to terms with the loss of the friendship now and wish for you the best in life.
It is not to say I do not miss you. I adored my dear friend, but I'm disconnected and far away from the you now. I don't know this person, so how could I? Sometimes I think of a world where I could reach deep into our mutual memories, pluck you out to have a chat and a laugh with my old friend again. How are you truly? How have you been? I miss talking to you. I miss listening to you talk. What had put a smile on your face, or a frown, or let spill an angry word? Was it anger or pain when I irrationally yelled at you? How have you changed?
But that is just a silly wish, is it not? It's foolish to think that one could revisit the past.
All I could trust my feet to tread to is forward, and see where life brings me.