I’m Still Out Here Waiting Watching Reruns Of My Life
This is the sort of thing I should have done so many times, you know? Really. The twinkling orange lights, the sound of the waves lapping against the pebble beach, the sun slowly creeping below the horizon. That moment when a chill creeps into the air and she curls up into your arms to keep warm. These little fleeting moments, these memories you store, that keep you going.
There’s a line in a song I love, about it taking time to heal the broken memories that another would need just to survive. I have so few of those memories to begin with, and it’s hard to enjoy any of them. They always end up tinged with pain and loss, the knowledge of what was to come later. Not that there have been many of them anyway, so few happy days. Sometimes it just seems hopeless, like there’ll never be another one, so what’s the point, you know? Why keep going?
We should have had these moments, when we were young. She and I. I know…I’m just fooling myself. Pretending like there was some grand destiny. Like it was meant to be but we got it wrong. Foolishly believing that in another world, another time, we got it right. I hate the thought that this is all there is, all there’s supposed to be. That I’m meant to be alone.
They all tell me I’m wrong, of course. That there’ll be someone. That’s what we’re told, someday, one day, it will happen. There’s always a happy ending. It’s not true, of course. Some people die alone. Did they deserve it? Were they bad people? Were they unlovely? Were they impossible to love? No. It just…didn’t happen. Then I look at the happy couples, and I wonder…are they really happy or are they just afraid to be alone? How cynical I have become.
There are times when I am happy, and there are times when I am sad, neither last forever, and I know that’s how it is for everyone. Happiness is not a place, it’s a feeling. I tell myself this over and over again and try to believe it, but my happy place is in your arms, and yet I feel guilty for the stolen moments I spend there.
I am tired, and I feel old, as if the sun is starting to set, and the night is growing cold. My arms are empty and there is nobody here to warm me. All that lies ahead of me is darkness, and I fear that the dawn will never come.