總要在雨天 逃避某段從前
after all these years, perhaps i have still not changed -- biding my time, waiting, holding on to hope. these are the things i forget about during daily life that crop up around the same time every year to shake my world. most of the time, it succeeds and i always end up being thrown off the path because i don't want to cheat people into believing in me when i cannot deliver. this year i thought about it and think it is maybe because i am weak. or looking forever in the same direction as an excuse for everything else. maybe it is because it is always after the same length of time that i believe i am strong enough to face these things again without them affecting me. i am nearly usually always wrong. all these hypothetical questions that people ask me -- the correct answer is always no, and some days i believe it, but to this day i can tell myself i will always be unsure until the real thing comes, and even then.
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my mother took over my old computer a while back. all my stuff is still in there, the laborious accumulation of many many teenage years. practically all my memories are inside. yesterday she asked me if i wanted to delete them, and unthinkingly i said yes. for a moment after i regretted it, when i finally remembered that there might have been things i wanted to keep. but seeing as how i have not touched the thing in a year, i have probably forgotten already.
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when i was younger i thought i knew everything. i pretended i understood what was going on, and that it was necessary. now i look back and realise that i was wrong. it might have been easy for me to blame somebody else all these years. i am glad i tried my very best to avoid admitting it to myself even if every time i stretched out a longing hand through my writing it was effectively what i was doing. so it is nobody's fault; it is everybody's. so i thought i knew everything, and now i know better, but not well enough.
but as i grow older i am forced to admit that people change, and so have i, even if i believe i have not. all the endless maybes and what could have beens. i always hated my mother for that.
#
my mother took over my old computer a while back. all my stuff is still in there, the laborious accumulation of many many teenage years. practically all my memories are inside. yesterday she asked me if i wanted to delete them, and unthinkingly i said yes. for a moment after i regretted it, when i finally remembered that there might have been things i wanted to keep. but seeing as how i have not touched the thing in a year, i have probably forgotten already.
#
when i was younger i thought i knew everything. i pretended i understood what was going on, and that it was necessary. now i look back and realise that i was wrong. it might have been easy for me to blame somebody else all these years. i am glad i tried my very best to avoid admitting it to myself even if every time i stretched out a longing hand through my writing it was effectively what i was doing. so it is nobody's fault; it is everybody's. so i thought i knew everything, and now i know better, but not well enough.
but as i grow older i am forced to admit that people change, and so have i, even if i believe i have not. all the endless maybes and what could have beens. i always hated my mother for that.