The thing that sucks about growing up is that you lose people. You find other people and you find yourself along the way, but you can never have back those times that got you started, and what you know now will never be the same as it was then. Memories are funny that way. You could look at a picture and not even recognize your own face but when you stop and let it wash over you, it all floods back like some impossible dream that came true, if only for a moment. You can’t live in that past, because it doesn’t exist anymore, it stays exactly where it used to be, it isn’t where you are now. You can visit it from time to time but every time you go back it gets a little hazier, a little harder to remember, a little less familiar. You can try and recreate it but you will never ever be that person again.
I mourn for the past. Some of my best friends live there. Some of my biggest mistakes take refuge there. Some of my favorite memories shape the photos and the “remember when’s” of that past version of who I am now. If I could only go back and hold them in my hand like warm sand from an empty beach. If I could only remember what it felt like instead of just pretending I knew what it meant to me then. If I could only do it again, just one more time. Would it make a difference?
I never used to care about the person I was. Until I realized I couldn’t have her back.