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October 24, 2002 Real Love I don't think it matters, you know. Like, it happened; and she was gone. It took her 3.9 seconds to give me a glare that spoke volumes of sadness, of weakness and of disappointment, and 1.2 seconds to open and close the door. And then, she was gone. Yeah, I think it was that simple, somehow. When I was sixteen, girls were angels. Actually, no, more like toys or something to that effect. Because then, we just wanted to use them. We didn't know about giving, about loving and holding on. We didn't understand why they needed a reason to hold on to us. And it's not like I know now. She fell for me, I fell for her, and somehow I thought that would be it. I mean, I'm not talking about marriage—nobody ever thinks long-term. Maybe we should, but we don't. And that's probably part of our fault. Oh well. It's over, she's gone. I looked out the window, and the sun was shining. Kids were playing on the streets, and this old lady who sits outside on her lawn was smiling. I guess it's almost like someone's trying to tell me to move on. That this is a good thing that's happened. No more chains; you got freedom, kid. Yeah, more time. More freedom. More time to stare at those girls on MTV rap videos. « How I Learned My Firegun Vocabulary | Collection of Away Messages, Part I » | |||