Where my Memories lies

It is not that I am not over her. I am. Or at least I think I am.
Because the last time, I thought so, I believed it. But tonight things are different. I miss her tonight. And, she sits in my thoughts playing a romantic rhyme to what could have become of us.
I want to write about her. I want to talk about her. But I fear snapping of patience, I fear of feeling that she is not my life.Today I am writing here because no one can ask me here "why".

I hate not to think of her. Because every time I do think of her, I float in an air of a light heart and a soul that swings in opinions and decisions. A feeling that pulls me back in time, a feeling that I like. I miss her not being a part of my life any longer. I miss her as the voice on my phone. I miss her at the end of the day when I could share about my whole day to her and she to me. I miss those secrets that I had told only to her. I miss her presence, her energy, her purity. She has been my inspiration and on most days I would look up to her. Her baby face and giggle sound was certainly a good veil over her vice and yet sometimes, she was just too baby-ish to be tolerated.
She must be a big girl now. She must have grown. She must be working now. She must be this good human being that I know exists in her. She must be so many other things which I cannot even imagine. What does she like now, what does she want now?
I hate her becoming a stranger to me. I want her to freeze in time, stay exactly as she was, that same person whom I loved so dearly. I have held her so close to my soul, so close to my existence. She was a part of that life- the life which I left for entering a worst one. And, thinking that she must be changing every single minute, breaks my heart. Every single minute she's becoming a stranger. Every single minute she is moving away. Every single minute I have to let go. And, I hate letting go of her. To think of it again and again. When will this cycle end?
I have a frustration when it comes to her. It is anger and it is sadness. She never stopped me and I never cared to look back. If only she had stopped me..we could have been together . I hate her for not doing that. I hate her for being too good. And, I hate her that she couldn't just hold me when I was slipping away.

And, now as I write, I hate this weakling. I hate this person I have become who writes about "love" {for God's sake!} I hate her for making me feel this way after all this time. I am not this person. Every time, I swear to myself, I will never talk about her again. And, I fail. And, I hate this failing.
I sigh as I write. My breathing is heavy and I could most certainly cry. If only I could. I talk about her so fondly. She was my first love and she will always be and yet our relationship ended with not a single tear. We drifted so slowly that it never looked we were moving apart. It only looked natural but it hurts so now.
On some of the toughest times today, I think of her. I see her in my dreams, smiling at me,hinting at me, loving me. What does all of that mean?

There was a time when I could walk alone without her memories and now every where I turn, she is there. In unknown faces, names, walks, looks, smiles, words. She walks with me.
It sometimes scares me. I feel burden with an emotion from my past and I feel it weighing me down. I could never love again or never love someone as much I loved her. She has become the standard, the ultimate. And, now every time someone would come tome with love in their eyes, I would only try to find her in them. I would calculate how much of her is in them, how much of them is not like her. A fear that bounds to my chest and stays there, thumping my heart and nauseating my guts. I believe in every fiber of her, I dream about her, and I wish to see her someday, but now I feel weak. I feel nauseated and I feel scared. I wish to be liberated from her and yet I deny every word I just said.

I have always wished her well. Or I have made myself believe so. She never hurt me, she never once violated me, never promised me of a faded future. She was sure. She loved. She laughed. She whistled. She was hot.{sigh} She was good. A good heart. A good love.
Which is why I still carry her. Which is why it is hard to let go. Probably, which is why I think I could have been wrong.
A good love teaches a lot many things. And like a good love, she did. Which is why I will always love her. Even if it is in a naive, subtle way.
Happy Birthday A.