Up the street from me lives a little girl. With a round happy face, a square toothed smile, white blonde hair and the bluest of eyes. She looks like you did twenty five years ago. She looks at me like you once did.
In a weird and eerie way it feels as though I have stumbled upon you again. For some reason in a very different land and a different time you have once again thrown yourself into my life. It makes me uncomfortable. It makes me remember things. Memories. Moments. I can replay our life together easily, I still remember everything. I always will. That is the frustrating thing. That even though we have both moved on to each others unknown, that I will always be stuck with these memories. Moments that will pull me back in. Make me remember and feel everything all over again. When I so clearly am done feeling. And remembering.
Looking at our lives I understand that what happened to us makes others wonder. How you could of been the way you were. How I could of been so direct in my words. It makes me wonder too. It makes me question how one can change so much. And how I can so definitely decide that this new person is not for me. I get angry when I find myself here - thinking of you. Wishing that somehow we could of figured it out differently. That at that time we could of handled it. It saddens me that we couldn't or wouldn't. Because I think there could be good from us still. That we could continue to have so much of what we once were. I think I could start over but I don't think I could wipe the slate clean. My problem, I know. And this is perhaps what hinders me from finding you and putting this on your lap.
I tell myself that there is nothing more that I need from you or that you could possibly give me. And yet, some small part inside of me burns with hope that I am wrong. That there still is the need for one another.
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