Oh ,December.

I think almost too often in past tense.

And it’s not because it’s nostalgia, it’s more of a …realization of how little I’ve done.
I’m sitting in this beautiful apartment, trying my hardest to remember how I even got through last year.

Because the past always speaks louder than what’s surrounding me. It shouts more, I guess. IT has been three years since I’ve seen you, Becca and it kills me how much I’ve let go since. Sometimes I think I hear your laugh, see your face, drink too much and think that you’re still alive.

And I think how I may be closer to the women who was the cause of it all. She may live down the street, across my window. She may be wrapped up in a thick blanket listening to Christmas music and baking for her grandchildren. Happy.

And it’s not fair, and I can’t blame anyone. But I’d like to say that I’m sorry I let you get away from me before I had the chance to tell you that you really did make me into the person I am now. The unproductive, quiet person. Because you always did the talking for me, just being around you made me look less wrapped up in my head. Because you knew that the past could choke our happiness. But you never let it.

And you’d be proud of me , that I’ve let my worries not effect my life. That I love my friends and have a passion for something larger than myself. That I too could be warm and happy.

You’re still twenty. And I can’t seem to begin to move my life somewhere whole.


It’s been three years since I last saw you.