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Remember My Last

I know I have to let him go, and I finally {FINALLY} feel able to. But I still found this quote, and I think it fits perfectly. So, for him, the one you’ve all heard about for far(farfarFAR) too long…the last thoughts.

someday i am going to leave here, and i am not going to look back… 
I won’t look at the mistakes, or the pain and the tears, or that one night we spent together that seemed like if we held on it could last an eternity… i am not going to look back. I hope to look forward to new friendships and less crying, more love, and more trying… I am not going to look back anymore… for you.
 
And I loved you with all my heart. I fought for you, I treasured you… I went to hell and back for you… And I am still sitting here, lonely and afraid… without the only one that ever mattered.
 
I wouldn’t know what to call these past few years… other than a beautiful existence. It was highlighted by you, and given to me, it was shined on by many, and loved by few… and now here i am looking on that bright– second beginning.

Signs.

I was watching Friends last night. It was the one in Vegas, which always amuses me to see Abi drunk. I was going through this phrase where I just wanted to see all the “holiday/important ones”, actually- because I watched the Halloween one on Halloween. (Does anyone else notice that Dame is in that–as the “universe”? Arrogant prick.) 

The Vegas episode involves more than drunken addictive marriage. Monica and Chandler are looking for signs, wondering if they should be getting married. And they humorously find out that neither of them actually wants to get married and yet the signs keep following them, everything from catching a bouquet to standing in front of a priest. 

I get a B in originality. That’s my life right now. And considering how many times that’s been done, it’s probably not even a B. Probably more like a X. {Has anyone ever noticed, by the way, that ‘an X’ sounds a lot better than ‘a X’? Grammar is annoying sometimes.} I’m serious though. Should I be counting how many white necco’s are in a pack–or looking up at your name, or letting the key stick and repeat your initial? How many times have I seen you in a song, or heard you in an awkward silence? Why do I know you so well, or look at your facebook for the fateful day when you are chosen by someone else? Signs, signs, damn signs! Erase them–I’m hating it! 

It feels weird. I can’t really move on… it’s not that easy. But as they say in Friends, “I’m sick of the signs.” & as they said in Grey’s, You can’t be here. I will always love you, but I have to move on.  I have to move on. 

//no! no more sorrow, i’ve paid for your mistakes

your time is borrowed, your time has come to be replaced

your time has come to be erased //LP.

&–&

Honda Civic 01, tan seats, or at least they used to be tan. She made you angry enough that you’d kick my car…were it not mine. Anger that was visible. You were shaking at her memory, while I melted at his. Shaking together, then. Flirty. Laughing. Innocent touches across each others shoulders. 

What I was thinking about though, you didn’t like. As though I could help it, as though you were jealous of his captive hypnotic attention from me. It wasn’t a choice half the time to think about him, it just happened. I wanted to erase him. And when I told you how I wished for a pensieve, you “took” those thoughts, and crushed them under your toe. Symbolic, perhaps. Unfortunately the reality is not so easily swept away.

It was raining. We were wet, and comfortable, and laughing. Waiting for a reason to get in the same car, I think. The drizzle was ironic, and we were elated already. We’d won. There was a sense of excitement underneath everything, chemistry and sparks. A thought of us, or a thought of our successful candidate? Unknown. Victory E-Hug. 

The car was warm, and the windows were foggy. You were so close, half the time we were actually touching. Half the time in comfortable silence, half the time smiling and overzealous. You still were shaking at her injustice, shaking at the memory of her. I still was captivated. 

The phone rang. It was him. Finally, after all this wait, all this hurt…he was calling, and you were there. You! Smiling at me, laughing, seizing the phone, forbidding me from answering. But I needed to know. I needed to know that we were over. Or if I was sitting in the car with a guy when I was technically spoken for by a heartfelt handwritten query. 

It was a no. You heard me, whether you wanted to or not. I wasn’t quiet, and I barely left the car. Hovering nearby, trying to be strong. Strong branch, Mimi. Strong branch. 

I got back into the car, smiling at you now. Stunned. Shocked. It was freeing, it was fantastic. It was misery, and it was beautifully new. You were beautifully new. I was talking now, quietly, staring just past you, free. Free. 

Do you want to make out with me? It seems like such a simple question…straight-forward, semi straight-forward response. Truth is, yes, yes. I do. Do I think it’s a good idea? That’s what I don’t know. And that’s why I hesitated, and that’s what I think the suspense is. You were there. And he was in my head. I told you I was scared. 

You extended a coin. A simple penny, half bent and tarnished–your answer to the proposed. Heads we kiss, tails we don’t. Pulled out of your jeans, while you left me in suspense. I wanted to. You were right. I wanted to. And flipping the coin eliminated the option. Why not take the chance? Why not flip it, and let fate decide? Why not toss that coin in the air and try for something new, exciting? It’s a chance. If it fails, we know, and if it doesn’t, it could be wonderful. 

Why shouldn’t I give him that coin, and tell him to flip it today, when once again we meet by that civic? 

Or is that just looking for a sign?