I’ve gotta move on from this. This many years later, and it’s like the beginning. But realistically, it should’ve been snubbed out when it started. I don’t want to keep thinking about it. I don’t want to keep telling myself on a daily basis how nice it’d be, only to follow with a convincing of otherwise. That’s not what I’d like in my life anymore. That’s not what I’d like in my head anymore. Or in my shitty heart. Sometimes I think that if all of it were actually nothing, if all of it meant absolutely nothing, it wouldn’t have stayed with me for any length of time, let alone this long. It shouldn’t fester up so much after this much time. I’ve been an idiot my whole life. I’ve said things at the wrong times. I’ve held things in that I should have actually let out. I’ve loved the wrong people, and consequently am the way the I am because of it. I don’t like saying that. I don’t like feeling and knowing that those two people who abused me as much as they did lead me to be the woman I am right now. That their abuse resulted in so many flaws that I have never been able to fix and wish with every atom in my body could. That they scare people away. That’s not a great feeling. Maybe I should’ve said certain things a long time ago, maybe it would’ve made a difference; maybe it wouldn’t have. It doesn’t really matter now, at this minute. All this time, all these sunrises and sunsets, all these falls and summers and winters, they didn’t heal anything. They just made words and stomach knots and loopy feelings unspeakable. That’s what time does sometimes. You see and read all these quotes that always say that time heals everything. That you can always say what you’ve been meaning to say. Sometimes that’s true. But sometimes it isn’t. Maybe if I ever came up on the right moment, I could do it. But to save myself the embarrassment of coming off any scarier, I’ll hold off on it. It’s good, though. It’s good things. Well, it could be, anyways. It’s a lot of things.