Free of Me
When I think about the people that have been a part of my life, some overwhelmingly important and others, just a dot on the map, I wonder how the world would look through my eyes if they had not made their impact. What am I without the groups of friends, the boyfriends, the acquaintances, and even those who aren't so fond of me?
And while the details are a little fuzzy, it's always interesting to think about the first night and last night you spend with a person. Not the first and last time you see them, but the nights that they first make their impact, and the night when you realize it's the last time they've got a part of you.
It's always hardest for me to think of the first time I knew I cared about someone when I'm waving goodbye. All the hope I had in beginning, all the things I planned and parts of me I wanted to share, turns itself into sadness. It's the loss of those feelings I think that breeds the fear of trying again with someone new. But I don't ever seem to regret letting anyone in, and having that hope, but I do have a lot of trouble giving it up.
Once I've had a chance to breath and grieve, I still want everyone to be as happy as they can be, even if that happiness has nothing to do with me.
I thought I knew who I was going to be laughing with now when I was 13. That's completely absurd. But when I look back on myself ten years from now, I'll probably think its absurd that I put so much of myself up for anyone when I was 23. Perhaps that means that my chance of knowing what the hell I'm doing is not going to improve, even as the decades pass.
Whatever the case, I appreciate that I have loved and lost boyfriends and friends as much as I have, because whatever hurt I have suffered or dealt out, the agony and thrilling bliss are both worth the experience, they let me be broken and open at the same time.
And while the details are a little fuzzy, it's always interesting to think about the first night and last night you spend with a person. Not the first and last time you see them, but the nights that they first make their impact, and the night when you realize it's the last time they've got a part of you.
It's always hardest for me to think of the first time I knew I cared about someone when I'm waving goodbye. All the hope I had in beginning, all the things I planned and parts of me I wanted to share, turns itself into sadness. It's the loss of those feelings I think that breeds the fear of trying again with someone new. But I don't ever seem to regret letting anyone in, and having that hope, but I do have a lot of trouble giving it up.
Once I've had a chance to breath and grieve, I still want everyone to be as happy as they can be, even if that happiness has nothing to do with me.
I thought I knew who I was going to be laughing with now when I was 13. That's completely absurd. But when I look back on myself ten years from now, I'll probably think its absurd that I put so much of myself up for anyone when I was 23. Perhaps that means that my chance of knowing what the hell I'm doing is not going to improve, even as the decades pass.
Whatever the case, I appreciate that I have loved and lost boyfriends and friends as much as I have, because whatever hurt I have suffered or dealt out, the agony and thrilling bliss are both worth the experience, they let me be broken and open at the same time.