It always strikes me as somewhat strange, the way age changes and defies logic. Over time, the wrinkles appear and the cheeks sag. Voices become rustier, more hoarse, tired from years of screaming at children. Movements are slower, the legs stiffen, backs bending increasingly over the weight of dreams. Recently there have been so many movies dealing with age and loss, as if the two must come together, but increasingly one accepts that the two are necessarily inseparable. With time comes loss comes age, and a painful process of maturity; age becomes wisdom becomes regret.
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There are few people I can listen to as readily as you, knowing always that you will have something worth hearing. Even though you’ve come — and you’ve gone — quite a few times, you’re here and I’m here and nothing changes. As you waltz back into my life I’m beginning to realise that you’d never really left, and the distance that separates us is painful and wide and altogether too long. I was surprised there was anything left between us, and not just anything, but something, in a way that is strange and unfathomable.
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Happenings of the past (last) week of holidays;
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Tomorrow will mark the first week in which I lost the last three years of my life. Funny that that’s the way I chose to say it, when it could have been said any other way, but I suppose in a sense it’s true, because it’s three years’ worth of memories that I can never get back. This includes all the pictures and all the music I transferred over from my old desktop when I first changed over, some of which I’ve had since 1999; files which are now irreplaceable and I will never get them back even if I try. It also includes years’ worth of memories and letters that I wrote and never sent; always assuming that whatever happened, things would last forever. But that doesn’t happen, not even in cold November rain. Everything’s gone, but my heart’s still hanging on. I don’t know if that’s a good thing, but I feel less aggrieved by all these losses than I should be, considering the amount of time and emotion I’ve invested in it.
Everything is the same, but the inside will change. Not that this counts for much because I’ve changed everything possible about it since the day I had it, except this final part (which, now put in, will render it totally and completely different from who it used to be) — brand new everything, now. Totally and wholly unrecognisable. Except not, because I could have just bought a new computer, but instead I’m sentimental as fuck. Strange how I am trying to make it into a metaphor for my life, but it’s not so far off the truth anyway.
Ever since I got back everything’s been dying on me. It’s probably a sign. Funny also how I always end up spending my final year in school alone.