I went out for a drive the other night. I put on my most recent, eighty minutes long mixed CD and I went out for a drive. I do that sometimes to clear my head, to get rid of the cutscenes. I don't know what it is exactly, but there is something oddly relaxing about driving in an empty road, windows down, and knowing that in that moment in time, there is nowhere else you have to be, nowhere else you'd rather be. So you drive, and because there is nothing else stopping you, you keep on driving. 40 km/h. 60 km/h. Eighty. But then something does stop you, and you stop.
You stop, in the middle of the road, because Track 7, the name of which you don't remember, reminds you of all the things you have left unsaid, the things you'd rather jot down on a piece of paper than have the courage to say out loud. You stop because the defence mechanism you not-so-ingeniously devised for your oversensitive heart, is not working. It never did work. You stop because then you remember the real reason why you're out driving in the middle of the night, in an empty road, while the cool, hot summer breeze, waltzing in through the open windows of your second hand white car, dries the tears you have been putting off for so long. You stop because you remember. And then, it hits you.
You're leaving. Again. And you're scared. Yes, I'm scared, even though I've done this once or twice before, so I probably shouldn't be. But I'm still scared. Because this time it's real, this time I have to grow up, and I don't think I'm ready to grow up. I don't think I want to, at least not in the way real grown ups grow up. I don't want to be a real grown up. But I guess I have to. So I'm going to try. I'm also going to try and write down almost everything I wish I'd say, because as it turns out, the things you don't say are the ones that need to be said the most; they are usually the ones that matter the most.
Truth is, though, I don't really know where to start. Sometimes words fail me, especially when it comes to the things that matter. They fail me or I fail them. Either way, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if you don't always have the right thing to say. It doesn't matter if the words in your head have a rainbow aura surrounding them, but when they make it to your mouth and out in the open, they sound like that little girl who just discovered fairies don't exist. It doesn't matter. What matters is that you say them anyway and by any means necessary. What matters lies in how well you can parade what's hidden deep within your heart.
Like the fact that I love you. But you already know that, don't you? I know you do. What I don't think you know is that I'm sorry. I really am. I'm sorry for wanting to leave. I'm sorry that this is not enough for me, and that it probably never will be. I tried, I wanted it to be, but it's not. Not like this. And I wish I can somehow make you understand that it's not your fault, that if I could, I'd take you with me. Because you are, and will always be, the best thing that ever happened to me, and the thought of not seeing you every day breaks my already-very-fragile heart into a million tiny pieces. But I have to do this. You know I have to. Because this is that moment people talk about when they're 40 or 50, when they're having dinner with their children, and they're talking about how "if only", put together in that order, can be two of the saddest words in this world. This is that moment.
This is it, the moment I have been dreading for a whole year, the moment I have also been waiting for for a whole year. This is it, and now I have to go. I have to go, but a big part of me will always be here, with you. I will always be here with you, for you. Always. And just so you know, it's not you who isn't enough. It's everything else. Because you, you are way more than enough. You, are everything.
You, are my everything, and I love you, a lot. Oh, and one other thing. Please don't forget me.
♪ Almost Everything I Wish I'd Say: Playlist ♪
You stop, in the middle of the road, because Track 7, the name of which you don't remember, reminds you of all the things you have left unsaid, the things you'd rather jot down on a piece of paper than have the courage to say out loud. You stop because the defence mechanism you not-so-ingeniously devised for your oversensitive heart, is not working. It never did work. You stop because then you remember the real reason why you're out driving in the middle of the night, in an empty road, while the cool, hot summer breeze, waltzing in through the open windows of your second hand white car, dries the tears you have been putting off for so long. You stop because you remember. And then, it hits you.
You're leaving. Again. And you're scared. Yes, I'm scared, even though I've done this once or twice before, so I probably shouldn't be. But I'm still scared. Because this time it's real, this time I have to grow up, and I don't think I'm ready to grow up. I don't think I want to, at least not in the way real grown ups grow up. I don't want to be a real grown up. But I guess I have to. So I'm going to try. I'm also going to try and write down almost everything I wish I'd say, because as it turns out, the things you don't say are the ones that need to be said the most; they are usually the ones that matter the most.
Truth is, though, I don't really know where to start. Sometimes words fail me, especially when it comes to the things that matter. They fail me or I fail them. Either way, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if you don't always have the right thing to say. It doesn't matter if the words in your head have a rainbow aura surrounding them, but when they make it to your mouth and out in the open, they sound like that little girl who just discovered fairies don't exist. It doesn't matter. What matters is that you say them anyway and by any means necessary. What matters lies in how well you can parade what's hidden deep within your heart.
Like the fact that I love you. But you already know that, don't you? I know you do. What I don't think you know is that I'm sorry. I really am. I'm sorry for wanting to leave. I'm sorry that this is not enough for me, and that it probably never will be. I tried, I wanted it to be, but it's not. Not like this. And I wish I can somehow make you understand that it's not your fault, that if I could, I'd take you with me. Because you are, and will always be, the best thing that ever happened to me, and the thought of not seeing you every day breaks my already-very-fragile heart into a million tiny pieces. But I have to do this. You know I have to. Because this is that moment people talk about when they're 40 or 50, when they're having dinner with their children, and they're talking about how "if only", put together in that order, can be two of the saddest words in this world. This is that moment.
This is it, the moment I have been dreading for a whole year, the moment I have also been waiting for for a whole year. This is it, and now I have to go. I have to go, but a big part of me will always be here, with you. I will always be here with you, for you. Always. And just so you know, it's not you who isn't enough. It's everything else. Because you, you are way more than enough. You, are everything.
You, are my everything, and I love you, a lot. Oh, and one other thing. Please don't forget me.
♪ Almost Everything I Wish I'd Say: Playlist ♪