:: Purposeful Death Overhead ::

February 17, 2007

A new year's come, a birthday ( i no longer possess the gleeful joy to call myself a "teenager".) I am twenty.

This semester I'm taking an anthropological class on aging, and i know soon I won't be in the prime of my life. Soon is relative; In 10 years I'll be thirty, forty, fifty, and where will those years have gone?

I look in the mirror and see a reflection of myself, still cute, still buyant skin, no wrinkles.

I fell in love with you, and in my dreams you smiled at me, kissed me, held me. But it couldn't of been you, because you smile at me when you feel like it, kiss the back of my neck when you want to get laid, push me aside when I've given you myself, roll over and fall fast asleep. You never hold me.

What more, you post the morning after how it'd been a mistake excused by a drunk night. You post how much you'd wanted me to leave so you could sit in your shower and cry after her.

I'm sorry you don't remember the other nights; I'm sorry you don't remember the sunrise, or 2 am walks to Towson, around Silver Spring, Rockville, or movies, Firefly, Sushi, the endless games of Risk and chemistry and how you would always fall asleep in Bio only to have me wake you up. I'm sorry that you don't remember who was there for you when Ellie died.

Do you remember during finals we got drunk and had sex and fell asleep naked because we were too tired to put on any clothes? Remember when Christina pounded on the door trying to get in? Remember the day we got back from break? Remember how you drove up to Goucher at 1 am the day I left for Israel to hang out?

Guess not.

:: Alina 11:22 PM Comments: Post a Comment