I can be perfectly, mostly, absolutely and importantly in joy at my present...
I can be morally, informedly, entirely and so consciously at peace for having moved on...
I can be superbly, supremely, so rightly, fanatically relieved that it wasn't meant to be, that I made the right decision...
I can be bodily, heartily, sensationally, savagely a better, brighter, happier, hotter whole for having left the past behind and lived life ten fold...
What is it about love that never fully goes away, even after I've left the room and locked the door behind me.
What is it about a photograph of you...or a sly touched up memory... that solicits a grudging wry smile...
What is it about our past that has never fully ceased to exist...even when it is so wonderful that it is not our present...
Liar.
And yet, you shameless, painted peacock. A picture of you can still make me smile.
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2 comments:
some beautiful about writing is that when read, you realise how universal things you go through are, and while so familiar, every single emotion is so individual.
that being said, this is a beautiful piece. ive read it thrice already, and its hit a nerve every time.
Wonderfully written, as usual ..
I wish I could write something like this.. esp in my current situation .. :)
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