Dear... Georgia Sunshine
I've been thinking about you so much lately. The past few months have thrust me back into sentimentality and nostalgia, which I'm always wound up in but lately it's been a penetrating ache in my heart and soul and I know there's no cure.
Maybe if things changed, and I mean if things changed for me. I realize now that one reason I can't move on is because things changed for you, but nothing did for me. You have a whole new life now. I felt the slow push out of your world long ago, but I had hope--there were still things keeping us together, even if we were farther apart. But now, there is nothing. Nothing really but memories, and my own one-sided desire and loneliness and stagnation. It's not as if I haven't tried to change my life and move on from that place I can't get back to; none of my efforts have had results.
I also think, despite the grief, part of me likes it this way. It's familiar. It's comfortable. What the hell would I do with myself if things did change? But this inescapable cycle really is lonely, and while I guess I could tell you this, I know you wouldn't understand. And that's okay. You're not in the place to understand. I'm still here, in the same city, with the same job, the same friends, the same solitary life, yet that has become a hardship in some ways. I've never been especially lucky, but I was lucky when I met you, and the people in your life now are lucky to have you. We're so much older than we were when we met, when something brilliant blossomed, but I still feel like I'm 25, laughing with you from nearly a thousand miles away. Instead, I'm alone, aching, not laughing, constantly reminiscing and wishing for the utter impossible.
I always thought I wanted to live forever, but I think I really want a time machine. I don't have one and never will, so I'll continue to rifle through the cards you sent me and the pictures of our good times that I clench with desperate hands, and the memories that, despite my best efforts, fade from my mind.