When I first met you, I thought the world of you. At least, that’s what my memories tell me. In honesty, I probably didn’t consider you as anything more than normal in the beginning. I don’t have many memories of you left, and the few I do have are rose-tinted and faded to the background of my mind, residing in my dreams, in the words I write to chase after you, to pull out a memory of when I knew who I was. Back when we were together.

The truth is, I don’t know when you left an impression on me, and I don’t know why. Maybe it was something about the idea of the outcast and the black-sheep finding happiness together that spoke to the romantic in me. Whatever it was, it was real, God knows it was real. I wrote poems for you every day, you’re the reason I started in the first place, you know? But I’ve said that before.

I think I just want to know why you stuck around so much at the end of the day. When we parted ways, you stuck around for me and I don’t know why. You’ve colored every attempt at love since, and every time I try, I have to keep telling myself that the indifference I feel when looking in the eyes of someone else, is love, but that’s a lie. Or..is it?

I don’t know. Maybe at the end of the day, I keep chasing you because I want to know it meant something. I want the story to have a happy ending because I did the right thing. So I keep going. Finding you inside of another name. So far you’ve been married happily twice, and I’m still waiting...