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How could I ever put into words the way I feel? How could I ever, the representation of chemicals rushing through the mind, the body, and the soul… it’s overpowering and quite frankly daunting. Words just never seem to be able to do justice to the feelings themselves. I’ve never felt more comfortable, more loved, more cared for, than when I was with you. But the question which ensues: was I in love with you, or was I in love with what essentially you represented to me? Is there a distinction between the two, and if there is, does that latter make the former any less important?

There is something to be said, that I can’t help but look back and smile, ah, the great fortune of reminiscence. I do confess, though I may be past a point of sorrow and despair, I can’t help but wanting to make plans, to have something to look forward to, not just in general but with you… Am I going to do that? Not at all, but it’s the last of the entirety, I just can’t seem to shake. I understand quite well that I wasn’t yours, and you weren’t mine, but I WAS yours and you did feel like mine, so even in the slightest coming to grips with that changing for the both of us is likely the most unsettling of all the feelings.

I often have to remind myself how temporary everything in this phase of my life is supposed to be… the pain, the happiness, the anger, the sorrow, the joy… it’s all fleeting from moment to moment, and often going in between polar opposites. As I hide myself from the world on this day, I know that the next may bring something new, something different, the littlest of things that can change it all around. We’ll grow old, and we’ll look back at the foolishness of it all, how we fit the roles we were supposed to so perfectly, and it’s hopefully at that time we can open our eyes from recalling those memories to see the eyes and smile of our truer love, that love that feels like home, as long as we’re with them.