Why do I do this to myself?
Once every 6 months or so, I open files I should have deleted long ago, but somehow can’t bring myself to delete. After reading a conversation from 2005 (or 6), I find my heart aching in a way that it hasn’t since… well, since last time I read the conversation. Ache because of what’s lost, ache from remembrance of what I had, and from what never was.
For some reason, I still wonder if perhaps I really did throw in the towel before all hope should have been lost. Was it an overreaction? If I had even a glimmer of hope, I would have kept on trying until that glimmer was gone. Now, unless I reread things from where I was besotted, I find myself feeling very little. While I don’t particularly like the prospects of spending the rest of my life alone, I don’t have any proper interest in involving someone else in the rest of my life.
After two years (to the day), it’s such a shame to have not found someone to replace what never was, but then, they say it’s our failures that haunt us the most. The thing is, it’s not even that I failed to find someone, but that I can’t even will myself to look.