I'm bad at goodbyes. I guess it's because I don't miss people all that much. After the hugs and warm words, these melancholic departures always rang as see you later. I know you and I never said goodbye. Maybe we'll run into each other at a familiar place with familiar faces and reminisce the times where we never saw the bottom of our glasses and witty banter floated between us like fireflies in the soft night. But this time it's strange. This time I'm not so sure. I hope you understand. Perhaps we're too much like the fresh cherry tomatoes clinging to the summer vines my dad planted for you that I knew you never really wanted. I remember giving them to you in a glass container the last time we spoke. I wonder if they were sweet or sour, ripe or rotten? I don't think I'll ever know, and I'm beginning to think I never did.
Perhaps I felt over the moon for you while it was waning in front of me the entire time.
Days and nights grow longer simultaneously when you don't remember what day it is. It's strange having too much and too little to do at the same time. I'm reminded of the day I was packing things into boxes and stuffing them into my car, leaving everything good for something stupid. I've already left, but I'm also afraid of returning to the same place. Things are never quite the same when you return. It's like playing with old toys - so familiar, yet none of it is.