I know now why people are like they are because I’ve been given enough time to be some of them by now.
I think you miss everyone eventually. I think it’s demeaning to miss the kid who spat on my school uniform or the other kids that laughed and I thought I’d hate them forever but I don’t, I just miss everyone.
You grow up and you want more and more and more from the hosepipe and it gives you all you can drink if you hold it right and then one day you’re done and you say, ‘stop,’ and it doesn’t, and you find yourself trying to hold water in your hands, and it runs down your wrists.
I’m petrified there’s a kind of nostalgia that freezes you in place and makes you (me) forget that you (I’ll) miss this too one day.
Isn’t that the truth? You can’t miss something until it’s taken away? How do you ever know what’ll go next and isn’t it unfair that you can’t hold everything to your chest all at once.
Sometimes I will walk into a room surrounded by so much history that I am overwhelmed and I don’t know if everyone gets that or if it’s just me but I know for sure these days, I am not fun at parties anymore.
P.S. Buy a book from a sad git.