I’m glad I got to meet you before the world made you hard. Well, maybe not the world but people, experiences, circumstances—those things. Before a time where your defenses were up and your tolerance was low. A time when you were soft-spoken, kind, gentle and had a sincerity about the way you acted, spoke, felt and related to others.
The real you.
Not how you are now—manipulative, selfish, deceitful and yes, hardened in a way that can never be undone.
Unless you can turn back time, which I’ve tried—unsuccessfully.
I guess it’s really not realistic to think that life experiences—both good and bad—don’t leave their impression on your soft, malleable skin. No matter how hard you fight against it, life leaves marks and scars on your body, heart and mind.
But for some reason, I thought you would be the exception. I thought you were different. Even though 15 years is a long time—I thought you will still be the same.
My savior in some sense. My lighthouse on a dark night, choppy waters and no shore in sight. That was you. You found me and pulled me to shore when I was drowning. I’m not sure I ever told you that. I don’t think you knew what you really were to me back then.
Maybe you never will.
But that doesn’t matter anymore. You are not that person you were a decade and a half ago. Really it feels like a lifetime ago. The only proof I have of the old you resides in some letters, a few pictures and hundreds of flash bulb memories.
That is the you that I choose to remember.
The new you—unhappy, complacent, indecisive—I don’t want to know that you.
You’ve lost your spark, my friend. Your shine has dulled.
Your spontaneity that drew me to you has departed.
I hope that you find it somewhere, someplace or maybe with someone.
Maybe one day you will remember what I remember.
Before everyone, everything took you and made you someone else.
At a time when you were still mine.