Note To Self

The part that hurts the most is knowing you’ve become their past. You are the person who comes up in random conversations, probably the heart-to-heart ones with close friends. Maybe they’ll mention you when their mom asks about you, and they sit there thinking, “I haven’t heard that name in a long while.” And they are really tempted to text and say, hey — but they don’t have enough strength to press send.

Maybe when they enter a new relationship, and all walls need to come down, they have to say your name aloud. They need to mention your name and promise it won’t be a threat.

The part that infuriates you is having to act like you don’t care. Because see, caring jeopardizes everything. Caring can be translated as something else and confused as something that is no longer there.

The part that saddens you is watching them grow up in photographs. Thinking, “I wish I were I was there.”

The part that sucks is knowing that you’ll become birthday friends. Maybe bump into each other at some event, maybe say hey.

The part that stings is wanting to be the person they call at night, wishing to be the person who sees all of their accomplishments.

The part that butchers your insides is knowing everything about them. Knowing that at some point, you were close, and you’ve become 2 strangers on the side of the road.

The part that really upsets you is knowing that no matter how hard you tried, it's one of those things that didn’t/couldn’t work out.

You can’t be angry at anyone, not even time.

The part that you absolutely despise is knowing you’ll be forgotten. You will become a distant memory, and they’ll think of you on your birthday and, if you are lucky, Christmas.

The part that breaks your heart is knowing that you shared a life, but you’ve become the past, and that’s where you belong. Next to Woody and Buzz.

The part that makes you smile is knowing that they’ll be ok.
Knowing that there is a whole life ahead of them, filled with blessings and lots of love.

Knowing that they’ll be happy and holding someone else’s hand.

But the part that makes me happy is knowing that when I reread this post, I will be somewhere else, doing something else, and won’t be the same 23-year-old crying for unresolved love issues.


Note To Self
February 2013



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