Oh the irony…
I keep everything. Old love letters, little notes left on pillows, conversations saved to my computer, so many photos, so many memories. Does it ever feel like nothing will ever be as good as it used to be? So many times I think back to my first love and wonder if I will ever be so enraptured in another person. That obsessive, all-consuming passion. Everything becomes tied to that person: the music I was listening to, the season’s perfume, the size of my body beside them.
I can still smell their sweat.
I can still taste their skin.
I miss people that don’t exist anymore.
Realization.
I haven’t been near whiskey in months.
Last year, my (ex)boyfriend and I were always on the way to a show of his or a party in Brooklyn, and I feel it was just a constant. It’s really interesting to think about how different my life is now. I’m not saying one is better than the other, but the differences sure are noticeable.
