Discovered Instagram today.

Uh-Oh. >.>

The worst part about growing up.

The worst part about growing up is having to watch people fade from your life. Day by day, slowly but surely, we drift apart, despite all the time and effort put into building up what should have been a solidified relationship.

Ignorance once said “Don’t be sad that it’s over, be happy because it happened!” I’m not sad because something ended, but rather, I mourn the fact that the experience was predestined. You shouldn’t put a lifespan or a time frame on elements in life which to some are so fragile and sacred. 

The worst part about growing up is that it never ends. Though the metamorphosis itself is enjoyable and practically painless, I always find myself being lulled to sleep by the unrelenting thoughts of reflection on past actions and conversations. Were there times when I could have won you over completely? Is it too late? 

Does it matter?

Of course it does. Maybe not for the reasons that you think. Maybe not even for the reasons that I think. All I know for certain is that my mind is cluttered and troubled with the constant repetition of “Why?” pounding over and over. Thunderstorms are lovely only when your mind is completely at peace. Have I mentioned that you are lovely? 

The worst part about growing up is constantly being able to find new ammunition to use on the war against ourselves. Self-loathing is something that I never thought I would have the capacity for. Unfortunately, I opened the floodgates in an instant, erasing what little I had to hold on to. It hurts to know that I had the power to hurt you. I did hurt you, didn’t I? I must have… I certainly hurt myself that night, though I hadn’t come to realize it yet.

I may not be as naive as I used to be, but I’m still struggling. Not a day goes by where I don’t try to find some personal sense of closure, a solution to my problem. However, my problem is not your problem. You do not view me in any sort of positive light, of this I am certain. I was the source of my own self - destruction, and for that I am filled with regret. I am ashamed to think that you can no longer trust me, no longer talk to me, no longer confide in me. 

The worst part about growing up is having to express yourself through blog posts because you know that the one person you need to talk to no longer exists. She’s said it herself. That doesn’t mean that change isn’t a welcome surprise in life. Perhaps I need to turn around, and stop chasing cars which are moving too fast for me.

It’s easy to lose sight of you in the city.