Nostalgia, it's been awhile...
I have those thoughts that often linger in the back of my mind. Like any unvoluntarily skilled overthinker, when you release the rein on your thoughts and start ambling mindlessly about, you end up stumbling into those questions that had been left unanswered. Those are the kind of self-questioning that I might have crumpled into a creased little frail ball or carefully pleated into a paper crane, an intricate and delicate memory thrown away in the closet with all the other skeletons and mysteriously missing socks.
All the choices made, the decisions taken. People you meet, people you love, people you lose, people you let go. The hidden regrets piled up in the dusty corner as to not shadow over the "moving-on" Yellow Brick road. It's all in there. Like a Pandora box made to contain that emotional bulimia that'd otherwise make me throw up every memory all over the place each time I recalled something.
Every single person I've encountered has a fragment of me. And I, a fragment of them. That's just the way attachments work. You lose a trace of yourself to welcome a bit of someone else. And when that attachment vanishes, you lose whatever part of yourself you shared and gave away. Then, whatever is left between your fingers are those precarious, precious, gossamer threads of memories that were given to you. They look so ephemeral, you end up locking them away to never lose that tiny morsel of what it is that was once all you wished for. And sometimes, you crack open the door of nostalgia just a little, to peek in, to make sure that it's still there. Those are my regrets.
It is scary to admit that we have regrets. It's terrifying, actually, to embrace our regrets, diaphanous memories that just keep paling away as time flows by, so wispy that we're afraid they might shatter into thin air if we held them too closely. They're just little pulses in soapbubbles. The last drops of life from your past. Sometimes I'm afraid they'll burst under the pressure of contemplation.
Here's the thing though. No one can promise that they won't hurt you, but you can't hold that pinky swear either. I'm so sorry for the pain that I caused, the ones that I hurt, the ones that I deceived. The ones that I took for granted. They say that first love is selfish. They don't say to what extent. You don't know until you go through it, the feelings going wild, head getting light, foolish smiling as common sense drips out of one ear. The other people that you forget. The other people that you neglect. I regret having been selfish. I don't regret the relations, the bonds that were weaved. But I regret the timing, not having been mature enough to take care of the relationship, the friendship, that heart.
Here's the thing though. No one can promise that they won't hurt you, but you can't hold that pinky swear either. I'm so sorry for the pain that I caused, the ones that I hurt, the ones that I deceived. The ones that I took for granted. They say that first love is selfish. They don't say to what extent. You don't know until you go through it, the feelings going wild, head getting light, foolish smiling as common sense drips out of one ear. The other people that you forget. The other people that you neglect. I regret having been selfish. I don't regret the relations, the bonds that were weaved. But I regret the timing, not having been mature enough to take care of the relationship, the friendship, that heart.
"Maybe all we can do is to hope to have ended up with the right regrets."
- Arthur Miller
- Arthur Miller
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