Beats Apart 2

With you gone, there would still be one thing I have to resolve: Her.

I am wrong, though. Seeing her alone is enough to resurrect every tiny piece of my times spent with her. Shoulder-length hair, sunburned skin, rosy fingernails. I remember why I didn’t straight break up with her in the first place upon seeing you. Both are precious in their own way, and I didn’t bother to make a choice. I avoided making choices. In the end, guilt killed me slowly, and leaving both choices seemed like the best way to keep feelings intact without any traces of betrayal (hint: it’s not). I made up reasons. I am nothing short of avaricious, and you and her have fallen victim to my sentiments. If there were a prison for infatuation offenders, then I will surely deserve a place in one.

She spills all the beans on me. How you were virtually a perfect match with him until she came along to an even more perfect match, of lack of better terms. How you broke up silently and faded away without much rigor. How, after I went out with her, she slowly became curious of me slowly resembling you, painting stuff I never cared to paint (I never even painted before) and humming to the tune of Kaputt when I never listened to Destroyer before. She was inquisitive, yet apparently I was too good at concealing my track with you and she no longer felt like prying me around.

But her guesses were right, and you indeed were dragging me around with your charm like a fruit fly for the sake of making her go through the same pains you have gone through.

Or so she says. Currently I am conditioned to trust her more than you. At least she is telling everything, unlike you. You know that you can't give up. No matter how hard it gets, this is the path you chose. And remember, those who sticks will be rewarded.

In the end, I am back to square one. To where I set foot upon the new town, free from you and her. Perhaps this is the way indeed, a warning for you to not come in contact with me again and for me to not fall for you. Again. At this point I don’t care anymore whether your every kiss was for the sake of avenging her every kiss, or whether your antipasti are but a confront to her bowls of carbonara. What happens in the past doesn’t even need to stay in the past. What happens in the past should just wither and die and forgotten.

Lesson learned. Proceed onward. Life, and work, awaits.