28.4.16

Traces

I still can see you everywhere. On the corner of every street, at the end of every bridge. There are still songs and movies that remind me of you. I can still feel you everywhere.

I guess it's impossible to completely wipe out more than a decade of memories.

I was lying on my bed the other night, and smirked when I remember this one guy who spent one night there. I was walking along SCBD this one time, and smiled to myself when I remembered a late night walk I had with a dude. I saw some French movie, and felt this rush of warmth when I saw Seine river, because I remembered the time I made out with a guy there.

I have a lot of those kind of memories. The ones that make me smile and bring a jolt of joy. The ones that make me sigh and  close my eyes, but then smirk, because although I miss those moments, I'm thankful I have them.

Memories of you are not that kind. Memories of you make me close my eyes and think "at least it's passed. You survived." Memories of you bring a pang of guilt, shame, and bitterness.

Maybe I don't have daddy issues, maybe I have a you issues. Maybe I've been trying to bury any memory of you by creating new ones with more and more men.

Maybe I've been breaking my heart right, left,  and center just to prove you're not the only one who can get to me. You're not the only one capable to make me feel the kind of sadness that turns you catatonic. Maybe I've been trying to prove to myself that you mean nothing to me. Not now, not then.

I bet you're wondering why all of the sudden I feel like this. Me too. Somehow memories of you been creeping back the last few weeks, and they are shit.

Fuck you, dude. Fuck you and your super creepy ass behaviour. Fuckity fuck, fuck you.

No, I don't wish life to be good to you, and I don't wish you happiness. I wish you get to experience what it's like to be really sad. The kind of sadness that is crippling. I really hope you will.

Good night, and fuck you.


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