I’d love to just shut the door on all these memories, walk away, and be happy, but the question of why this all broke down still haunts me to this day. You were red. You were passion and excitement and nights that I wished would never end. You were beauty and extravagance and the realisation that I no longer have to settle. That I am good enough. When everything was taken away, I relapsed and questioned all that I had believed to know. You were the beauty and wonder of autumn, dazzling me with colour and vibrance, and then vanished, rendering me frozen in the bleakness of winter. I can’t allow you to remain circling my mind when everything was so long ago. I can’t bring myself to dream about you when I have finally moved on. Knowing that you are back in town for the holidays is torture. Driving past your house is pain. Reminiscing is numbing.
Another problem with opening up is the fact that something cannot be fully opened when a part of it is missing. It’s not fair to be enchanted by someone else when I’m already entranced by another. As easy it is to deceive myself, I can’t escape the fact that I just need that one last piece of closure. That final conversation. That final car ride. That final goodbye.