I figured that, since I finally got some time on my hands, I should try updating this deserted little blog. After all, I have a lot of thoughts, and many of them have passed me by during the time that I haven't put up any new content. Maybe a new post won't hurt.
Hello, you. This is a response to your letter. I'm pretty sure this post will rot in oblivion before you see it, so I guess I'll say quite a few things. Of course, about us. You're free to construe this as whatever you perceive. The important thing is that I've said things that matter. Maybe not to you, but to me.
Basically, this is just a small open letter to apologize for all the hurt I've caused you. I've told you--its childish giddiness, idealism, romanticism. I pushed you into something you're not ready for. For a while, I was consumed by the illusion that the world is a place that ran on cheesy "I love yous" and sweet promises. I thought that the world was a kind place, even for a short while. Oh, no. Don't be mistaken. I've gotten over it. After all, shedding the rose-colored glasses is the first step to growing up. Only when we have learned to cast off our foolish notions of romance can we face tomorrow. Or else, their shards will hurt us as we desperately try to frame them together again.
I'm forging a path in the darkness that is the future. You say that the future doesn't exist, and while I don't contest that, they say that "before the sun rises you see the glimmer of its rays"--and what we do today is a foretaste of what lies ahead of us. To be honest, I don't have the least idea. Will we drift apart? Will we stick together? Will we be nothing but footprints in the sands of each other's shore? Who knows?
You tell me that I shouldn't be overthinking. Worry not. I'm not overthinking things. Maybe a little. Maybe I've grown so dependent upon the notion of you and me together. It's a delightful thought--we have many things in common: the same things we like, the same things we hate, the same things we make. I guess in a perfect world that would mean we will be overcoming the challenges life throws at us, then ride together, hand in hand, into the waning sunlight. Fade to black. Roll credits. But no. It's a convoluted network of lines--tangent, parallel, or asymptotic to each other. And the hurtful thing is that we can't draw our own lines. If that were so, I in my childish mind could have decided to be with yours.
Again, I want to clarify that I love you. Like, a lot. Maybe the passing of time will quench that idealistic little flame in me later, but I pray not. You're precious. I want you to be my world, my life, my salvation--but only after I've grown up.
So, yeah. Thanks for everything. For the stories we made together. And for the stories we will make.