On the days when I am completely lost of place, my cell phone serves the needs of me to call you and yelp on the cell like a wounded dog. Sleepless nights, and not just for the sake of saying that, but literally sleepless nights as in rolling on the bed with no luck of a comfortable spot to crash off, my cell is again, the live saver. Or at that extend- the lappy is. Okay, that stood for laptop.
So what happened to the concrete-stable ten year old me? Did two months of you do the taking over of ten years of me? I never used the cell for any other reasons than nothing. How did two months of a new girl at school change ten years of me being completely self-repair material to dependant-on-life-guards-slash-friends-to-help-my-problem-solving? That is not the hardest question, but the answer is.
Here I am, where I am, leaning over the laptop, hands flooding the keyboard as the hole in my mind leaks a non-ending gush of questions which all have desperate needs of answers, quick and accurate.
Say I'm my mind exactly, then I am the odd-ball in this world. Without even comparing me with the rest, I can easily relate to my father when he talks about being the sharpest knife in the drawer. If only he had gone to sit in the other drawers, maybe in one of those lucky ones, he will find me. I do think a lot, but the past three years from now have blocked a whole lot off. Be it the new year, it will be almost three.
You are something, my dear most precious. You are many things altogether but not wholly. You are a being that stretches out her many roots, long and short. Eventually, some will be overgrown and the rest will be grown on by the bigger, but I will never forget. I will not leave out the slightest detail like I have very much been doing for a while now. And that is a not a short but long while. My greatest wish is that some day, you will know how much you mean to me, and how you mean to me, though it is impossible you knew everything I felt, and exactly everything at all because it is beyond your foreseeing. Your imperfections leave scars of my spirit, but scars to me, are not something that resembles bad while to everybody else, it is quite the opposite. Why is that? Scars do not hurt, but it is perhaps, what made the scar exist, that does. A scar is very much also a mark that is left behind after a great impact, what ever that may be whether good, or bad. Two of the biggest contrasts of examples are; the scar on my lower abdomen, one which existed after I had my appendix taken out of me during a surgery that- thank goodness- saved my life. It saved the best of me, and how could I ever question the blessing that merely disguised? Isn't it obvious how it has done so much good? I was cured!
The scars left by you are invisible to the world and hopefully not, beyond. They are marks left on me that plays a rewind of memory that I myself fail to keep altogether in whole. My memory is fresh, but it seems like a terrible train ride that would steal centuries of my time, yet, it lies so close inside me. That proves how long it takes to get into me even for myself. One remaining evidence of your scar on me is one, and the only. The feeling. However, that proof, is unfortunately only visible and real to me. Once again, if it was obvious in your time, you would feel it too.
What you left on me is the constant reminder of how my everyday was made. You would think that the past is irrelevant where the future is concern right? Maybe you do. What if the world makes us forget. will the past still be real? Of course. But that changes when no body remembers it right? Will it still be real if people had no memory, and that one being the only living stimuli-active being on the face of this world that holds memory is losing sanity due to the lack of support, everything and everybody convincing each other that nothing past yesterday existed? Would you lose your sanity? Wouldn't that feel the same as being in a world that is vacant, apart from your being the only existence? Memories are so needed and yet, my memory is the most painful love I have.