recently, i moved back into my childhood home. unpacking boxes that have been left here, and cleaning out cabinets and closets have produced endless trips down memory lane. but sometimes remembering isn't such a good thing. not even when you're remembering the good stuff. i've always hated change. i hate what it does to people and how it always makes me feel like i've been left behind. i see the changes in people before even they do. i anticipate it, it's the bane of my existence. i get paranoid and angry, thinking people have grown bored with me. i start to demand and push, screaming at the top of my lungs "what did i do???". i can never accept the fact that people just move on, even for no reason at all except that there are, and always will be bigger and better things.
looking through all these photographs, letters and other relics of a past life, that when really reflected upon, wasn't so long ago anyway, but feels like it's been ages. i start to smile at first, remembering little snippets of conversations, and somewhere in my brain, an old fashioned reel is playing a yellowed film of events with friends, family and fiends. i remember how their faces looked like when they smiled, and think how different even our smiles look now.
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to an old friend....it's rainning outside, and i have an umbrella. but i miss sharing yours.
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