(no subject)
I want these words to be perfect.
I came home from school today with my mind set on cleaning, two hours and six trash bags took me down memory lane. I found a bag full of pictures that never made it into photo albums, but will this summer. Old portfolios, Mr. Kann's entire outline, paperwork, paperwork and more paperwork. I feel so accomplished, so...old. More memories to come. But, everything goes back to you. As I looked through the dates on everything, mainly the pictures, I realized I've divided my life into two time zones. Before you, and during you. Which then got me thinking, I haven't gotten to the point where I'm ready to create the "after you" time zone, and that scares me a bit. It's been seven months since I broke up with you, and you're still in my life, not as much, but you're there. A constant reminder of something that was mine at one point. I talked to you last night, and all the while I was only thinking of how wrong it was, the only way to get over you is to just simply stop talking to you. I'm not going to say I'm going to do it, I'm not going to give myself an ultimatum. I'm just going to let everything take its course. I'm going to learn to accept that not every hand is going to fit perfectly into mine like your's did. I've learned a lot, I just don't like what I've learned.
I came home from school today with my mind set on cleaning, two hours and six trash bags took me down memory lane. I found a bag full of pictures that never made it into photo albums, but will this summer. Old portfolios, Mr. Kann's entire outline, paperwork, paperwork and more paperwork. I feel so accomplished, so...old. More memories to come. But, everything goes back to you. As I looked through the dates on everything, mainly the pictures, I realized I've divided my life into two time zones. Before you, and during you. Which then got me thinking, I haven't gotten to the point where I'm ready to create the "after you" time zone, and that scares me a bit. It's been seven months since I broke up with you, and you're still in my life, not as much, but you're there. A constant reminder of something that was mine at one point. I talked to you last night, and all the while I was only thinking of how wrong it was, the only way to get over you is to just simply stop talking to you. I'm not going to say I'm going to do it, I'm not going to give myself an ultimatum. I'm just going to let everything take its course. I'm going to learn to accept that not every hand is going to fit perfectly into mine like your's did. I've learned a lot, I just don't like what I've learned.