It's a funny thing when you find out. When you are reading in visceral detail the way that your former lover was with another woman and even though you left this guy, this boy, this person, it still gives you a knot in your stomach to think about him with another woman. Even though, you know that you are with someone new, someone who you go home to at night, who loves you and who you love back. Yet, it still twists a weird, unfortunate hole into your stomach and you wonder if that dull ache ever goes away.
It's been over a year since you walked away but you feel like it's been a lifetime and a day. Both. The immediate past and the indeterminate past. Little memories writhe at the surface as you're emailing again. Dammit. You're corresponding again.
Fuck this artwork. Fuck the past. Move on without so much as glancing back. You tell yourself.
And you repeat it over and over again and you remember the things you hated and you remembered the arguing and you remember. And you remember. And you remember. And it's awful and wonderful at the same time. You wander lost through those fucking memories and wonder how you've come to this point. Again.
Is your life stuck on rewind and repeat? Or does it only seem that way until you can cut away the past, with a dripping, angry blade, that shines when it cuts the fat from the meat. I want to cut away the past, but instead I hack away with this butter knife that does nothing but muck up the past and present and leave me with bloody pulp for an answer.
What the fuck am I doing?
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