Time is an abstract.
These days I often have trouble remembering things.
I am writing to remember a significant chunk of my life. You.
Two years ago, you told me that I’d end up a deeply unhappy person, if I was,
who I was.
Two years ago, today I know that, I didn’t know what I was wearing.
I wore depression.
I wore an amour of sadness that I called “my guard”,
which I deliberately kept up.
My guard that was embroidered with the finest class of anxiety.
You hated it.
Two years ago, you were swimming in my sea,
while I couldn’t even dip my toe into your lake,
because of “my guard”.
Perhaps that’s why I had to hear it repeatedly.
“You’re going to end up a deeply unhappy person, if you are, who you are.”
I’d tell you that’s the reason why you fell in love with me in the first place.
Because, I, was your challenge.
Today, I remember that I am going to be a deeply unhappy person if was, who I was.
Today, I am giving you answers you always craved.
You tell me that I am playing a blame game, and that’s okay.
You see, two years later, I still have “my guard”.
I am happy, unhappy.
But, I am not going to let a passing fit become who I am.
Perhaps, I am slower than the pace you needed me to be at.
One day, I will catch up,
and you will be sorry.
