I am still in love with the past. I am still in love with what we had and dream of what we could have. I am still caught up with the illusion that second chances exist and can happen to us. I still drift to fairylands where all wishes can come to life.
I still search for your face on a room crowded with unfamiliar faces. I still measure every new guy I meet and compare them to your looks, thoughts and wits. Even the way you brush your hair and say a sarcastic remark to my shallow sentiments. How you want your coffee to be black and pizza without olives. I still care and grieve for the what ifs of our brief romance.
Yet, don’t worry. I have long realized that letting go is not going to be easy. I know it would take some time but I can’t find a way to begin letting go- where, when and how. There’s so much chaos and confusion that it cracks down my courage and commitment to stop living in the past. I can’t move forward. I just can’t.
This is the consequences of choosing passion over modesty but I would still choose it anyway. This is my story and regardless whatever judgment added into it, I don’t regret writing it with you. I still love you and I still want the past even if it doesn’t want me back.