A Month Later

These memories are like bodies in the ocean: bloating, then fading, floating only briefly before trailing down into the depths, to settle gracefully at the bottom, be swept away, torn apart, rendered immaterial and unconfirmable.

Some stills: his aproned mother baking cookies, the candles flickering on the porch, a candy wrapper placed thoughtlessly in front of a picture of the last family vacation.

These last months have been magical in a way words can never capture, and now they are over. I've come to many realisations.

One: It's time to focus. This isn't the story of Peter Pan; I need to grow up and get my life in gear. The next two years will be a blitz of college classes, hopefully ending in a diploma.

Two: I don't belong here. These people are not my people. They're strangers. I will hurt them if they let me and I will let them hurt me because of how much I love them. This is unfair to both parties. It's time to let go now.

Three: Love is a bitch. I'm casting whatever optimism I had about love to the sea along with the memories I should have been recording here. Jack: you changed my life. You breathed life into me again and I'm going to be okay. But your work is finished now. I'm sorry if we lose contact, but I can't be distracted by you, and nothing's more distracting than heartache. The simple fact is that I was as attractive, charming, clever, and compromising as I could be, and I failed you. Someday, some other girl will pick up the slack for me, and you'll fall in love and see how wonderfully intoxicating it is.

I feel like Brandy all over again. Double points go for the appropriateness of the sea motif.

Love really is a bitch.

At least two years from now I can finally graduate. It's only going to cost... $649 per credit? But that would be like... thirty grand. That's like... more than two years income.

Fuck you, college. Fuck you real, real hard. If this stupid court case doesn't come through for me, I'm going to have to resort to plan C. *sighs*