You, you, you

I still miss you. It's been five years since I last wrote about you.

And nothing has changed in how I idealize you, recreate my memories of you. I know, definitely know, that you've moved on, have your own life. That you don't miss me at all.

I do see your name on Facebook, when your name pops up, linked to a mutual friend. I don't want to be the first one to add you. You can add me, if you dare. We were friends, good friends, long ago. We're not friends anymore. I don't know how you've been or how you are. I don't know you anymore. A lifetime has passed since.

The funny thing is, when I remember our past, my heart still skips a beat and my eyes light up, staring into space, recreating every little detail in my head. We had a good time, good times. That is not a delusion.

There's very little chance I will meet you again. Least of all, become friends again.

Thank you for the memories, the broken promises, the intimacy, and the inspiration.

I realize now that I would have never been good for you. Would have broken your heart. I was not in a good place during the time we were together. I was too fucked up and didn't want to grow up, heal, or change.

It's ironic that by the time I was ready, I had already lost you.

Here's a tongue-in-cheek soundtrack to this. (I do remember you telling me that you discovered Alanis way before she became big. You have always been the cool one, who had made me feel cool by association.)