Too many late nights by the fire, thinking about, well, you. Still. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. The memories don’t stop. Your eyes don’t fade. It’s pathetic, really.
And there are too many words to write, too many things to say, too many thoughts to think. You’re everywhere and nowhere. You’re so close, so damn close, but I can’t touch you.
The pages are running out, my fingers are tired from all the writing and still I can’t find any end to it. I don’t know what to do with all those leftover feelings. I don’t know where to go with all those ugly regrets of things that could’ve been done differently.
Strawberry fields forever. The song still echoes silently in the trees. And every time I hear it I get thrown back to the night on which we last kissed. Only an hour before it was all over.
I’m still caged in the memories of this short time. An eight second journey, destination: Disappointment.
I don’t know what went wrong, or if anything went wrong at all. Maybe you just grew tired of the same old self-pity and bad jokes. My charm may seem strong but it doesn’t last long.
I wonder what you’re doing. I wonder if you still think about me sometimes. If so, it’s surely in a much less cheesy and hung-up kind of way. I don’t even know why I’m writing all of this. I guess I just had to let it out somehow, somewhere. You’re probably not going to read it, and even if you did, it wouldn’t change anything.
Look at me, putting all of this on a blog that no one reads in hopes of you seeing it. I have no idea what I’m expecting. Too much, surely. But one is allowed to have just a little bit of hope, no? To have faith, no matter how little. To believe for only one more second.
Too many late nights by the fire. The flames climb and climb, devouring every last branch in terrifying greed. They eat their way to their own demise. The construction breaks down, the fire dies, the embers grow cold. Only ashes remain. But the phoenix has died long ago.