SIXTEEN. Forgive.
Who do you need to forgive?
Myself.
Within a week's time, I've hurt two people, and I'm finding it hard to sleep at night.
Malcolm was not the one; I knew that when I was eighteen-years-old, and I still know it to be true now. But, he was something. Perhaps it was the things we had in common, the laughter we shared from youth, the life we shared across the ocean, the moments I've never had with another. I loved him, and I hated him. He inspired me to become a lawyer, to grow my hair long, to be someone else. I should have never held his hand; I should never have rekindled the flame, never have longed for the past. I'm not that child anymore. He wanted to marry me, and I... wanted something else. I didn't go back to him, and most likely will never have the opportunity again. But, that isn't the path I'm meant to follow; of that, I'm certain.
However, Malcolm made one point painfully clear. He may not be the one for me, but Alan isn't either.
Alan was not the one, but I wanted him to be. I adored him from the start of our friendship, even when he appalled me with his lewd behavior and questionable ethics. However, he was my friend when I had no others. I told him simply that he was a man who only talked, and men who talk never do anything; that sadly still holds true. He prefers to be alone, especially when involved. I'll miss waking up next to him; I'll miss our morning tea while we read the paper. Perhaps it's the few moments of normality I'll miss and cherish the most - the moments when he was simply Alan, not the infamous Alan Shore. But, he never said he loved me. He never returned it. It was in his eyes sometimes; it was on the edge of his lips, almost able to slip out with his next breath. But, he never let it escape. No, he only said that I smell nice. I can't simply wait forever. I have to move on...
I need to forgive myself. I need to stop waking up, longing for one of them to be there to hold me. I won't go back. I won't rush into his arms and beg to come back. I need to move on with my life... and I hate myself for it.
Myself.
Within a week's time, I've hurt two people, and I'm finding it hard to sleep at night.
Malcolm was not the one; I knew that when I was eighteen-years-old, and I still know it to be true now. But, he was something. Perhaps it was the things we had in common, the laughter we shared from youth, the life we shared across the ocean, the moments I've never had with another. I loved him, and I hated him. He inspired me to become a lawyer, to grow my hair long, to be someone else. I should have never held his hand; I should never have rekindled the flame, never have longed for the past. I'm not that child anymore. He wanted to marry me, and I... wanted something else. I didn't go back to him, and most likely will never have the opportunity again. But, that isn't the path I'm meant to follow; of that, I'm certain.
However, Malcolm made one point painfully clear. He may not be the one for me, but Alan isn't either.
Alan was not the one, but I wanted him to be. I adored him from the start of our friendship, even when he appalled me with his lewd behavior and questionable ethics. However, he was my friend when I had no others. I told him simply that he was a man who only talked, and men who talk never do anything; that sadly still holds true. He prefers to be alone, especially when involved. I'll miss waking up next to him; I'll miss our morning tea while we read the paper. Perhaps it's the few moments of normality I'll miss and cherish the most - the moments when he was simply Alan, not the infamous Alan Shore. But, he never said he loved me. He never returned it. It was in his eyes sometimes; it was on the edge of his lips, almost able to slip out with his next breath. But, he never let it escape. No, he only said that I smell nice. I can't simply wait forever. I have to move on...
I need to forgive myself. I need to stop waking up, longing for one of them to be there to hold me. I won't go back. I won't rush into his arms and beg to come back. I need to move on with my life... and I hate myself for it.