Ok, I admit it. I have drama. I dont share it with many, and although I've met some of you, these journal things feel so annonymous anyways, I dont care if everyone or no one reads this.
There is always that one person we never let go of. We may have grasped onto someone else, but that one person that just wont go away is always there. A movie, a song, a familiar image, they haunt you for the rest of your life. I cant escape, I just keep running and running but I can never get as much as a step away from her memory. I smell her when Im alone, I see her in my sleep, I hear her when there's nothing to be heard. Not just at these times, but at all times, at least once a day I think I'll hear her, only to turn around and find just guys I work with behind me. I'll think I see her out of the corner of my eye, or maybe as Im panning across a street, only to quickly turn my head back and find children waiting to cross the street. Movies, music, places, and short and skinny guys with glasses that resemble her husband; all these things give me a flash back of sorts. Just a long enough pause in my day to exhale and think about what was and is now.
I've moved on although it doesnt seem so by reading this. But does anyone really completely move on, or is it like an amputation? You remove the infected from your body to salvage what remains of your body? This is truly a book on the shelf of what is my life that will never close but simply freely cycle the pages back and fourth in the wind of time. And now, this journal entry is becoming entirely too deep for 3am. Goodnight.
There is always that one person we never let go of. We may have grasped onto someone else, but that one person that just wont go away is always there. A movie, a song, a familiar image, they haunt you for the rest of your life. I cant escape, I just keep running and running but I can never get as much as a step away from her memory. I smell her when Im alone, I see her in my sleep, I hear her when there's nothing to be heard. Not just at these times, but at all times, at least once a day I think I'll hear her, only to turn around and find just guys I work with behind me. I'll think I see her out of the corner of my eye, or maybe as Im panning across a street, only to quickly turn my head back and find children waiting to cross the street. Movies, music, places, and short and skinny guys with glasses that resemble her husband; all these things give me a flash back of sorts. Just a long enough pause in my day to exhale and think about what was and is now.
I've moved on although it doesnt seem so by reading this. But does anyone really completely move on, or is it like an amputation? You remove the infected from your body to salvage what remains of your body? This is truly a book on the shelf of what is my life that will never close but simply freely cycle the pages back and fourth in the wind of time. And now, this journal entry is becoming entirely too deep for 3am. Goodnight.