Here I am.
After so long.
I just felt like writing this down. Not because I want to relive this memory over and over again.
I guess I just want to think about you again. As I write, I feel like I'm reliving my past all over again.
They say that if you keep thinking about the past, you're only moving backwards.
But to me, thinking about my past, helps me move forwards, in quick strides.
I still think of you after so long. Sometimes I still wonder what is so magical of you, that made me so intoxicated. It felt as if I've been in darkness for so long, and then you came along.
You weren't the light that saved me, my own sorrow did.
But you were the poison, the drug that gave me vivid hallucinations of sunlight.
Time draws on and on. And every new life that I've started, a part of my past is being dug up to share.
I've kept you a secret for so long. You were a part of my past that felt to good to be shared.
Because, I'm afraid that if I've shared that past, I would never move on.
Other times I wondered to myself, even if I did share things about you.
What was there to talk about? There was no drama, no returned affections, no scene to replay.
Only simple words from you that now barely seems like whispered echoes, disappearing each day.
And I could only hear fragments of that sound, so distorted by time.
It is not so much of memories of you that I wanted to relive, but the way you made me feel.
The same particular level that we stand on,
like a thousand stairs for a thousand people, but we shared one step.
I still think of your words, your writing which inspired me.
All of which were part of the drug that held me down for so long.
Everytime I think of someone else, I'd still think of you.
Wonder how long will that go on before I admit that you were just another new single word in my book.
After so long.
I just felt like writing this down. Not because I want to relive this memory over and over again.
I guess I just want to think about you again. As I write, I feel like I'm reliving my past all over again.
They say that if you keep thinking about the past, you're only moving backwards.
But to me, thinking about my past, helps me move forwards, in quick strides.
I still think of you after so long. Sometimes I still wonder what is so magical of you, that made me so intoxicated. It felt as if I've been in darkness for so long, and then you came along.
You weren't the light that saved me, my own sorrow did.
But you were the poison, the drug that gave me vivid hallucinations of sunlight.
Time draws on and on. And every new life that I've started, a part of my past is being dug up to share.
I've kept you a secret for so long. You were a part of my past that felt to good to be shared.
Because, I'm afraid that if I've shared that past, I would never move on.
Other times I wondered to myself, even if I did share things about you.
What was there to talk about? There was no drama, no returned affections, no scene to replay.
Only simple words from you that now barely seems like whispered echoes, disappearing each day.
And I could only hear fragments of that sound, so distorted by time.
It is not so much of memories of you that I wanted to relive, but the way you made me feel.
The same particular level that we stand on,
like a thousand stairs for a thousand people, but we shared one step.
I still think of your words, your writing which inspired me.
All of which were part of the drug that held me down for so long.
Everytime I think of someone else, I'd still think of you.
Wonder how long will that go on before I admit that you were just another new single word in my book.
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