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This is insane. Really. In a different context, if it had been you, I wouldn't be this conflicted. I would have said "yes" right away. But he isn't you... by any stretch of the imagination. And I don't think that's quite fair. Every guy who tries his luck ends up being compared to you. And the sad thing is, there is no competition.

I know that at this point, I've probably idealized you. I look back at what we had and ignore the pain and tears and stubbornly focus on the good times. It's like I don't want to move on, hoping you'll come back... But I guess, maybe you never will. :(

It’s all so bizarre. I feel like I don’t know myself anymore. I have a theory though. I think that somehow, I’ve gone back to who I was before but part of me is still the person I have become. Somehow, the two of them coexisted and created a kind of internal time warp.

As I sit here reading my old journal, I realize that I miss having a handwritten journal. Somehow, it feels more personal that way. My only concern is the fact that seeing as how I have roommates, I am never sure of how secure my journal will be. Not that it should be a problem seeing as how much more dramatic my roommates’ lives are.

Macy has taken that giant leap with her boyfriend (the L word). By that I mean, living in. I’m just waiting for the wedding, at this point. Miel, who already has a boyfriend, is being pined after by one of her superiors at work. It’s like living inside one of those primetime shows. There are the standard relationship dramas, the pretty girls that the guys try hard to impress, the work or school or social dramas, and then there is the slightly (or totally) neurotic narrator who the audience knows better than his/her colleagues know about. So I guess this is where we start. Call me Belle.

The night is lit with the twinkle of the city lights. The wind that enters my apartment's window is cool, and surprisingly full of promise and possibilities. Late into the night and once again, I am alone. But as always, I am at peace. It's not often that I can allow myself to reflect, to think about my life, where it's going or where I've been.
It still feels like you're a million miles away... from me, from the boy you used to be, from what we had, whatever it was. It feels like just yesterday that I let you in and showed you how vulnerable I truly was. No facade, just brutal honesty. Maybe it was too brutal. There are wounds that never quite healed right, and you unwittingly added another one to my collection. My skin still feels like it's been rubbed raw.
But tonight, though I am alone, I feel more alive than ever. The night that is, and the city, does not demand of me what I cannot do and what I cannot be. And no matter how broken we are, it will stay the same: lit, alive and full of enormous possibilities.