I’ve always been afraid of changing the month on my calendar.
Not a fear of time passing by, or maybe it is; I’m not quite sure.
I don’t know at this point, and I’m not even sure when this fear happened. I would instead save my nice shoes for a day when I know they won’t get dirty. I mean, I always wanted to keep things new.
But changing the month on my calendar feels like I’m moving on, and I’m unsure if I’m ready to move on.
Maybe that’s what moving on is all about, though.
Because time is passing by, whether I like it or not, I’m still trying to hang on to the person you may have loved at some point. Because I can still be that person, I want to be that person.
But maybe that’s not what my future self needs, and I can’t even front it; that’s a tough pill to swallow.
I used to wake up every day trying to prove that I was worthy of the effort, of the love, and even of the pain.
Now, I wake up thinking I need to be someone I can be proud of the effort for, that I can love, and withstand that bit of pain.
I want to be a better person for myself; before, I used to want to be a better person for you.
Ain’t that a bitch.
You made me better, and now you won’t be around to see it.
I will win, and you’ll be the first I want to call when I do.
But you won’t be on the other side of the phone. You’ll be a memory that I’ll cherish likely until my bones become dust. And even when nobody remembers my name, I’ll still remember yours. And to me, that’s all that matters.