Crunch. False emeralds shatter swiftly. I feign strength and go the length to keep up the act, hiding the fact that I wish I could throw an ax at the green-eyed monster I’ve raised in my mental pasture. I thought I grew past her. But I am her and she is me. I foraged the forest of past memories and “past me” passed me. I saw her and I saw you, I saw us and what once was, but when I think about now, I see you, and I see how I’m not with you.

Oh, jealousy, jealousy, how she gets the best of me. I don’t know where this strange twist of emotion sprouted from but it’s a wild garden overgrown and I lack the strength to trim it. To muster the courage to pluck the greenery of nothing good means facing the truth that these seeds came from a secret somber place I sullenly admit exists…the dark side of my moon in Pisces. I too sulk in and with my shadows. Specks of the tainted moon dust, not meant to be shared or bloomed, I had been throwing at the thoughts of missing you, not knowing that they’d grow into something that seems unmanageable. 

Should I set it ablaze? Set the land on fire with burning painful intentions, set off by sparks of unhappiness, and let the bitter ashes of loneliness surround you as it does me? Knowing sentimental me, I would gather the ashes and encapsulate the residuals of the scorched memories, frame what we once had, and keep it in my museum of regrets and hard lessons. With the nearly white ashes I spot, I round up what I can and put it in a snow globe, forever having a crystal clear view of how my feelings and actions bring disaster to my sense of peace. This is one snow globe I need not shake. 

I rue, I think, I flash potential outcomes in my mind but never placing any expectations as I’m not owed any situations or conversations. Questions fill the room with no answers to set it all free. 

Will I hurt myself? Will I embarrass myself? Do I dare? Do you even care? It’s a glass I dare not break.

I dare not say,
I wish I might,
I wish I may,
be a part of your life again.

In hindsight, I’d know all the procedures and steps to take us back to where we were once upon a time. 
In hindsight, I’d know how to rewrite history so that we may have a happily ever after. 

But when I think back to those past moments, in our last moments, I followed my heart and now my mind reeks of desperation, yearning for a friendship that has gone sour. I followed my heart and then you unfollowed me. Failed birthday texts showed me a new kind of misery.

I watch your life in screens, a contrast to when we used to scream to songs I no longer play. I tap to see more. I wonder when and if I’d ever get to tap into your mind and life as I once was so solid in your thoughts and heart. Now, I sit wondering if I’m see-through to you. Is anything getting through to you? I ask as I do no more than what an acquaintance does: casual, superficial, low effort attempts of scratching for something more. I should know better than to stand at a sealed door. I put my hand in a fist, not to fight, but to knock on what I once closed. Isn’t it embarrassing to want what you once pushed away so adamantly? Inches away from pounding, in preparation of asking, I drop my fist. I turn, with my back to the door, look down, and cower in worry and low self-esteem. Everything is not what it seems.

I wonder what I’ll think in 3 years as it’ll be 10 years since my anxiety and disappointment got the best and worst of me, that fated formal night. 

Since then, I got comfortable in the distance, the sight of you in my mind is what I had. 

Since then, that sight devolved into only the thought of you, slowly shifting to the back of my mind, simply out of sight. Out of sight and out of mind, I forget us like I had to prove a point. Somehow, somewhere, memories flash as reminders of where we used to be. I suppose I never did truly forget us. Not after all this time. Time passes and we’re far from where we once were, so does this give me a pass? Am I excused? Am I forgiven?

It’s a pity that the pithy and painful truth is something I’ve always known: there are consequences to my actions. I didn’t remember that truth when I spewed my true feelings at you. Consequences, consequences. Some are immediate, some are delayed, and then some come crashing years later, with twice the regret and thrice the sorrow. In a private trice, will you grant me a truce?

Consequences, consequences. The impact lingers and the regret never stopped haunting me. A mere modicum of modesty would lead me to stop my intrusive thoughts and settle on the one where I shall never regret following my heart, ever, and I don’t, and I also regret the way I went about it.

The garden of envy and jealousy seems unmanageable on the days I feel too down to look up. In May 2019, I wrote this for you.

Reminiscing softly has turned into ruminating sorely. Now, all I wish is that we could share more than mutual friends. I’m 29 and still growing up, I am not where I’ve been, for I have not been with you in such a long time. I wish I was innocent. I wish the guilt gone and that I would move on. I carry the nostalgia like a warning note for I fear repeating the same action as I fear my character rusting and letting everyone down. Maybe because it’s fall and the cold has seeped deeper into my bones. My mind changed like the weather and I wonder whether or not I’m deserving of your friendship ever again. Maybe not, maybe not.

Seasons come and go and change is all I know for certain, but what I don’t know for certain is what rank of your mind and heart I’m in. Please don’t clarify that curiosity. I know it’s low and it’s low of me to ponder such placement. It’s all very plainly embarrassing. I’m 29 and still growing up, still wishing you love, still wishing you and your mom great health, still wishing you happiness, and…I’ll be still here, rueing in hindsight.

Last question, can you pick me up like the old times and can we pick up from where we last left off?

Sincerely, me.