soapboxdiner

I didn't analyse. I crystalized

Analyse me the way you used to. Tell me what you make... of me. he said to me.

Analyse? Is that what I do.. to you?

You didn't get it the way I thought you did, did you?

I didn't analyse you.. I knew you. I knew what thoughts kept you awake at night. I knew what kept you going. I saw myself in you... My words to you were a time capsule I wished I had opened years and years ago, for me. But more than that - but that is for me

Or is it?

I've always been open in my words. Emotions. Why should this be different? My humanity, I hope, reaching out to yours. As hopelessly cheesy as that is.

Yes, I talked to you... about you. But you reciprocated in your own way. You pushed back my line in the sand. You made me question who I am now and who better I can be... in time. In you.

Or at least with your mind and wistfully pragmatic survivalistic thoughts. In that, I was still the teenaged girl sneaking out her bedroom window to lie in football fields staring at stars and talking till dawn. Until the dew condensated in my hair and glistened on my skin. In that, I was the girl who didn't have memories. I was the girl before the smile stopped reaching her eyes.

How many of us get the chance to erase all their mistakes? How many of us get to wipe away all the repercussions of those mistakes? You gave me a glimpse of what that would be like. You shared that with me and then you went away. Always close in my thoughts and hopes and yet so far away, unobtainable.

Always unobtainable.

9:53 pm - 08.10.02
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