Looking through some old images, remembering how joyful and easy life sometimes felt when this boy was with me, especially days back in Europe. Nothing else seemed to matter then. Some mornings when I could wake up to his face, I'd spend time studying his features... and my heart broke, everything felt so perfect but I knew when the day came, I had to let him go, to where he should be, do what he wanted most. Things can never be as perfect as we would love them to be.
He is far from perfect, but so am I.
Sometimes I lose my mind and become someone I don't recognize nor like... We are young and mad once we're in love, and I hate it, I want to be capable on my own, not having to rely on anyone. Today marks two weeks since he left, and I've been feeling all kinds of emotions - good and bad, it's harder than I remember it was the first time we parted. I spend many quiet nights replaying memories and missing days we spent together, but life ... goes on.