i'm back from outer space

It has been almost two months since my last drunken phone call to the infamous. I am feeling the feeling that many people probably feel when they are knowing that the person who they loved so much not so long ago was never really wholly in their grasp. And that it does not matter either, because these things have a way of slow-dying resolution over the months and the years and the lifespans. I guess we don’t deserve any real closure on matters of the heart, or at least not until we are older. Being young is about leaving doors open maybe, and hurting for long periods. It’s about silent, sad goodbyes in hotel rooms in the small hours of the morning. It is about watching love die in a week and disappear on an airplane.

It is something like the feeling of a bandaid being ripped off so clumsily, repeating into some infinity.