anniversary
It's taken the better part of a decade but I think I've forgotten most things about her. I can't picture her outside of the few photos I have. I can't hold imaginary conversations with her anymore. The few specific memories I have only last because I made myself relive them ad nauseam to judge what could've been done or said. The image of those moments dim where she should be. The things she said echo in my own voice. Occasionally this numbing sensation at the back of my head that accompanied her words comes back. I still have the paperclip ring I gave her in fifth period our junior year. That her mother gave back to me five or six years ago.
She left an impossible standard for others. I try not to use her as a gauge -- at least not until after the fact. No other has evoked the same 17-year-old-eternal-love. Then again I haven't been 17 in quite some time. I guess I've had age appropriate "loves" since. They all ended poorly. I suppose I got the chance to wear out my own welcome with those. If she hadn't left early that morning, there's a decent shot she'd hate me, pity me, or forgot me by now. So I guess I have that going for me.
She's been dead ten years and all I can think about is me.
She left an impossible standard for others. I try not to use her as a gauge -- at least not until after the fact. No other has evoked the same 17-year-old-eternal-love. Then again I haven't been 17 in quite some time. I guess I've had age appropriate "loves" since. They all ended poorly. I suppose I got the chance to wear out my own welcome with those. If she hadn't left early that morning, there's a decent shot she'd hate me, pity me, or forgot me by now. So I guess I have that going for me.
She's been dead ten years and all I can think about is me.