It hurts, this distance. I just met you and now you’re gone. I just left you and it’s already been too long. I believe I found another part, another part of my heart.
People make you who you are. You see who you want to be in them. You see who you are not. You see what you could become if you put yourself to the task of self-improvement, self-renewal, and self-imbuement with idealistic ideals. And still it points to the self. When will you get beyond it? Never probably, but in this context being selfish isn’t a bad thing. You will turn who you are into helping others and nothing but benefit can come from it. Or so you hope.
And hope you do, continually in fact. Sometimes it seems silly to have so much hope in so little. To believe, to believe in not believing, to not know what to believe, all of which rests in you, completely confident yet unsure. You fight this battle with eyes closed because you can’t see who you are anymore. Certainty has died in you, along with doubt. You remain in the middle, always in the middle. Go somewhere, pick something, become someone already. Please.
But you know, just like I know that I haven’t decided just yet. Not yet. But I will, I promise.
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