Lack of Closure

I think the problem is that there was no closure. God, I've got to stop thinking about her. This is unusual. Maybe because I'm home. Because I went to homecoming and remembered her. I'm listening to Fitzsimmons. If we could sit down together and say, look, we fell apart. It happened. We never thought it would, but it did. And I will always care about you, but it's time to let go. If we could peacefully dissolve into this nothingness deliberately, I think it would be better. But we didn't. We slipped away while we were looking in opposite directions. And now we will never have that face to face, because she is away, and I am away, and we will only cross paths at random activities where we will see each other and act like everything is fine when it is actually dying. It is dying, if not already dead. I feel like I'm losing oxygen. Fuck. Stop thinking about her. She doesn't want you anymore. Why is it so fucking hard for you to let go? There's something wrong with you.

People have said going home for the first time from college is a weird experience, as if everything has changed when you expected it to stay the same. As if your home is now at college, and the old home is foreign. I didn't experience that. When I came home it was like I had never left. Nothing had changed. People weren't different. Life was still within my knowledge. I think it's because I'm not choosing to allow ACU to be my home. It would hurt too much. If I allowed myself to let 3rd North, room 317 be my home, then I would be crushed when I have to move out at the end of this year. I'm intentionally refusing to make ACU my home because it would cause pain if I did.

Is this constant pain a result of the Fall? Does this incessant hurt come from being separated from God? I don't know. All I know is that I have lost my best friend. That I go to a college that I don't call home. That the friends I love are different. That I can't fucking let go of the past because it was the happiest time of my life. All right, I'll admit it--you were right. I can't let go. If I knew another way besides distracting myself so that I don't think about it until it's gone, I would have tried it. I can't let go. I guess I'm not mature enough, or strong enough, or manly enough, or wise enough to let it go. If wanting to know you is holding you in the past, then I am doing that. But I don't want to hold you here, or even stay here. I want to say goodbye. A real goodbye. If I could do that, if I could verbally tell you that I'm sad we're not close but things like that happen, I would find closure. I really would. If I could tell you that it's okay that we're done, that what we had was wonderful but couldn't last forever and wasn't meant to. If I could look at you and say "I love you," the phrase would be like the last page in the book of our time together, not sad, but slightly optimistic and understanding, and I could think of you without pain. It would be a final, all-encompassing memory, one of kindness and love, that would come to my mind whenever I think of you in the future. That's it. That's what I need. But it won't happen.

Even still, even now, even though we fell apart.