Monday, April 8, 2013

Locked Boxes

Sometimes, I remember the way it used to be.

"This whole year," I say while looking at the rain-sprayed ground, "I've been wishing that it'd rain during lunchtime." 

Georgie and I are walking back from bowling, and I look at the rainy gray sky. It should make me smile, but we cross the street and all I feel like is crying. "Nobody's there," I tell her, and when she asks where I point to the tree. The tree where we eat lunch at, that's bare in the newness of spring, but it was full when I stood under it last year while the rain freshened the ground for a beginning.

Right then though I felt like something was ending. There's a reason I haven't dwelt on standing in the rain, and it's because sometimes even the good times hurt after it all comes crashing down. I had a great time standing under that tree in the rain with Literally, Coustic, and Fortune.

I sing to Georgie: "In the middle of September when we stood out in the rain ... nothing to lose but everything to gain ..."

"I'm not sure what song that is," I say, and it's like how I'm not sure where all that past went. There's so much I won't let myself think about because it was too good and I'll never get it back. Like standing in the rain and how the guy I liked walked me to Science even though his next class was on the other side of the school, or when the sun shone and I threw strawberries at Georgie before we knew we were best friends. When I had fruit roll-ups to spare and when I let love loose on the world in the form of sticky notes.

When I was more innocent, when I was more hopeful, when I didn't realize that sometimes things are never gonna work out for you.

When the future was bright, but then the light went out and I couldn't see the past either.

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