i reread every single piece i wrote about you. it was painful.
i don’t think either of us ever realized how much i cared about you. or that you probably never read them or cared or reciprocated or will even read this one. but that’s completely okay.
it just makes me wonder. if i has been more mature, if i had had myself together, if i hadn’t been anxious, if i hadn’t been a victim...where would i be now?
that was my starting point when i reached the insurmountable amount of pain that is college. and it’s where i needed to be.
going back is like going on a trip your parents decided to take you on and you have no choice but to be strapped into the backseat for the ride. once i started reading i couldn’t stop.
these words mean nothing, but the words i wrote years ago don’t. they meant more than just a mere something.
they were all i had.
and now it’s so enlightening to look at myself and see so much more.