Memoir

 

Tablo reader up chevron

Introduction

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 1

I feel sick with every word I write about you. I feel like Im letting go of you. I don't want to let go of you. Do you love me or do you love the thought of not being alone? Maybe thats a question I should ask myself instead of targeting you. I'm the real problem here. I'm the one who reeled you in, who tells you its okay when you treat me badly. I practically invite you to hurt me the way you do. I told you once to use me, didn't I? You didn't react well to that. ''Use you? That sounds horrible.'' Hah. We're both hypocrites. You say I deserve better and then beg me not to leave you. I am all you have. Your only real best/close friend left you and you don't associate with any other people. I don't want to leave you. I don't want you to be alone. I only want you. I still cant shake the thought of you feeling the same way I do right now. I'm not telling the truth to you. I'm not telling you any of this. Are you harboring the same feelings? I could easily get another guy and I have plenty of friends. wouldn't be alone in the same way you would. I used to think I needed someone. I used to get emotional just thinking about how I had no one. But now? I get emotional thinking about how wrong things have gone or could go. I have many complaints about you. You're really mean to other people, sometimes you give me the vibe that you only want to touch and be touched, you act on edge a lot, and you're really confusing emotionally. 

What are these words I've just spilled? Why am I acting so bitter towards you? I swear I love you. I'm sorry babe. 

 

 

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 2

Remembering things is painful. It doesn't matter if you enjoy the memory, the point is that its over. Thats what makes it a memory. You can't get back that moment and you'll never feel that same away again. Everyone says time is cruel, and it most certainly is. It goes on no matter what. The earth keeps spinning in orbit and the day will always go back to dark in the end. If you think about it, twenty four hours isn't really a long time. You spend a good eight hours of it sleeping most of the time if you're a normal person. A day has no real value after it passes. 

Everyone knows this in the back of their head. What I have just written down is something we've all realized at one point of our life. I have added nothing of substance to the conversation that is time. 

But if we know this already, then why do we constantly wish for a better day? 

We always wish for the day we can move out, the day we can graduate, the day we can see that friend we haven't seen in years. I believe it gives us a sense of security to wish for a later date. To know that our lives are going to be improved or brightened one day. Even when that day comes, we still find another time to wish for. Since time goes on, we are aloud to do this. We are able to do this infinitely as many times as we wish until we die. 

Memories are useless in that sense. The only reason they have any value is because we give them value. If we simply brushed them away they'd be forgotten for good. Think back to all the times you've put on your shoes, do you remember any of them? Do you remember which shoe you put on first? How you laced them? Probably not, because it isn't a meaningful aspect to your life. But wait, I might be wrong in a sense. 

Someone might remember the last time they put on their shoes before they left a place for good. Someone might remember when they put on their shoes to go to a funeral for someone they loved. You have to look at the details of everything. 

I remember a lot of things from my childhood. Bad things, good things. In my mind it was the best part of my life. In reality? It was probably the worst. 

I remember the noises of my brother rummaging through his suitcase of legos. His wooden door would be open, displaying the holes in it from where he'd punch it sometimes. 

If I think hard enough I can imagine myself standing in the part between the living room and kitchen. I knew all the details of that house. My sister would either be washing dishes or in her room, denying me access into her teenage world. The hallway to her room seemed to stretch for miles when I was younger. Everything seemed more.....colorful? More open? The vibes were all different. When I go into that house now, I barely feel a connection. I desperately try to cling to any thread of nostalgia I have for it when I see it. The furniture is gone, the wall colors have been changed, the people are gone. Its not the same. It cannot help me gain closure. 

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...
~

You might like Hazemai's other books...