I once told a friend, “I wish I could give you all my memories, lend you my eyes and let you see the world through my point of view. Because maybe then you would forgive me for not being sorry.”
The one thought I have most often is the worry that nobody understands me. I will never be able to ask some one for advice and know if this is the correct thing to do because nobody has lived my life. Nobody has sat on the domino’s of my choices, living with the ripple effect of every decision whether I was happy with where I had fallen or not. At first, I found this as a bad thing, a terrifying truth. I would lay in bed thinking; nobody will ever know the painful turn in my stomach that I felt the night you told me I wasn’t yours and you weren’t mine. They will never feel the fear that sat at the bottom of an empty pill bottle and blossomed in the pit of my stomach. They wont remember the night I crawled down the stairs holding my stomach in pain needing nothing more than a bottle of water to help wash down the acid. They can’t say they know how I felt sleeping in an unknown bed miles away from home with a wall between me and the girl who saw my fate. They can’t tell me what it was like falling out of love with you, and the blurs of the high school walls that day are something they will never recall.
Then I woke up, I opened my eyes and I saw my thought in a brighter light. No one will ever remember the excitement and freedom I felt running down the midnight street with your hand clasped tightly around mine. Nobody will remember the sound of pebbles bouncing off your bedroom window. They weren’t there the night my best friend led me down the alley next to her house, holding my hand as I balanced myself onto a log and looked over the fence separating the two neighborhoods and the city lights that would shine through her window late at night. They can never say they know what it’s like to fall in love with you. They don’t remember the day we hid potatoes around the hospital, and they will never recall the time we ran down the hallways passing each class as if it were a blur of wasted time.
So, maybe you are alone. Because I wasn’t there for your first heartbreak, and I won’t be there when your falling onto your floor drowning in your own tears. But I wasn’t there when you fell in love and I won’t be there when you feel the warm happy feeling in your stomach for the first time. It’s all yours, every memory and every forgotten thought; the only thing that can never be stolen.