oh. how many pages i spent writing about you.
strange really, how they say time heals all wounds. when it doesnt entirely, i think it just dries it all up. it stops the bleeding, the aching becomes dull until it disappears altogether. but at the end you’re still left with a scar.
how you come to me all new man. changed but unchanged, professing love and promises from now to forever. now i think, if time had reversed and you had come to the younger Me – how i would lap up all your words and run with it, with my heart so full of it all. how unfortunate for you that age has come of me, and i’ve learnt too many things since you and i were you and i.
for now i look at you and its as though im having an outer body experience. i am observant of this person i once thought i knew so well. i hold you at arms length. even your words i find myself filtering – syllable by syllable, like an invisible sift over my heart. they do not come to me as simply and as effective as it had before. i can almost see you trying to clean up the mess that you had left. such an extravagant mess you made. and here you are now, trying to sweep it all off the floor.
i am sad to realise that you have come back to me, hoping to find the woman i used to be.
when you’ve come crawling back to a completely different person. majority of what you will find, unfortunately for you, are remnants – forgiven but not forgotten – of what you had so callously left behind.