Getting older I’m realizing what I miss
I’m old enough to remember people I don’t see anymore, remember who I was and miss a part of her, and to listen to a song and have the artist used to mean something to me.
Ghosts of the past brush at my heart, not quiet causing wound, but causing pressure and pain.
Visions of what was dance in my head, and I’m old enough that they’re no longer fuzzy or filtered with the unknowing eyes of a toddler.
When I come close to being back in reality I realize what I’ve done to become what I am.
Guilt sets in.
People I didn’t say sorry to. Moments I didn’t cherish and people I wasted time on.
Reciting history is not what I want because my memories mean nothing to you.
But we all know the feeling that haunts us as we’re going to sleep and when we’re trying to tell someone new a story of someone old. The feeling that happens when we’re trying to write a letter to someone that deserves handwriting, pen on paper.
We all know what it’s like to be old enough to know what has happened.