Time flies. And it's been a long time now. I have kept most pictures on an SD card, hidden in the back of a drawer back home. A few of them were printed and stuck to my photo album.
And one last picture has always been there with me, without anyone really knowing. Hidden in my wallet, a single photograph; that was there to tie the last part of me that is still somehow struggling to make sense of it all since you've been gone. A single photograph on which you are not even smiling, you don't even look happy. But when I took it off the counter at your place without anyone noticing back then, you seemed pretty to me. And it has been with me since.
I would go on for weeks without thinking about that little photograph, until it would accidentally fall onto the ground or I would realize I was missing you some nights after getting drunk. It was there even when I hit the milestones of my recovery. It was there even when I wanted you not to exist anymore. It was there even when I realized I was finally over you.
And last night I took it into my hand, and wondered if I would have the courage to get rid of it, throw it away somewhere; just like I did with Marion's bell a few years ago.
Sure I still have Rex and pas, sure I still have all the presents you gave me; but these are mine, these are my property; it's part of me now. That picture never has been.
I could not talk myself into throwing it away yesterday. I tried to tear it up for a split second, before hastily putting it back where it belonged. I could not do it, I don't know why, I was not strong enough to surrender that last piece of love that was binding me to my old self, to you, to our story. And I told myself, that's fine; next time I will certainly be ready, I can still do it then.
How many times have I said that in my life? When I was in my teens, when I was a young adult, since I arrived here to start my new life? But what good would it do if I can't even make my mind and decide to change the very thing that is wrong with me? Why am I afraid of girls, of go, of English, of life? Why am I scared to take chances and actually try when it comes to the things I love?
I don't want this to be me anymore. There is no next time, never. There is only now, or wasted opportunities.
How long am I going to wait for things to miraculously happen to me without even moving an inch?
Not this time, not today.
So I took the photograph out of the wallet, and started tearing it up in the middle. It was hard. Literally. I didn't have enough strength in my arms to tear the photographic paper. So I started ripping the picture away with my teeth, until it finally tore. I looked one last time at these two pieces and what they meant to me.
And I realized that the answer was, not much anymore.
And I thew it away.
I won't let things go south because of my sitting still and just watching things go downhill because I am scared anymore. I am most certainly weak, imperfect and a bit of an outcast; but from now on;
I would go on for weeks without thinking about that little photograph, until it would accidentally fall onto the ground or I would realize I was missing you some nights after getting drunk. It was there even when I hit the milestones of my recovery. It was there even when I wanted you not to exist anymore. It was there even when I realized I was finally over you.
And last night I took it into my hand, and wondered if I would have the courage to get rid of it, throw it away somewhere; just like I did with Marion's bell a few years ago.
Sure I still have Rex and pas, sure I still have all the presents you gave me; but these are mine, these are my property; it's part of me now. That picture never has been.
I could not talk myself into throwing it away yesterday. I tried to tear it up for a split second, before hastily putting it back where it belonged. I could not do it, I don't know why, I was not strong enough to surrender that last piece of love that was binding me to my old self, to you, to our story. And I told myself, that's fine; next time I will certainly be ready, I can still do it then.
How many times have I said that in my life? When I was in my teens, when I was a young adult, since I arrived here to start my new life? But what good would it do if I can't even make my mind and decide to change the very thing that is wrong with me? Why am I afraid of girls, of go, of English, of life? Why am I scared to take chances and actually try when it comes to the things I love?
I don't want this to be me anymore. There is no next time, never. There is only now, or wasted opportunities.
How long am I going to wait for things to miraculously happen to me without even moving an inch?
Not this time, not today.
So I took the photograph out of the wallet, and started tearing it up in the middle. It was hard. Literally. I didn't have enough strength in my arms to tear the photographic paper. So I started ripping the picture away with my teeth, until it finally tore. I looked one last time at these two pieces and what they meant to me.
And I realized that the answer was, not much anymore.
And I thew it away.
I won't let things go south because of my sitting still and just watching things go downhill because I am scared anymore. I am most certainly weak, imperfect and a bit of an outcast; but from now on;
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