As I wandered through the backstreets, twisting and turning as one road met another. I ended up somewhere I had been many times before.

A place that I shared with you. Over and over again.

How can a place that was once so full feel so empty? There used to be meaning here and now it's just memories. Fading as I pass it by on my walk.

It hurts, but sometimes I let myself reminisce about the old days. I let my mind dwell and the anxiety build and when I’ve reached my max, I let it go like a weight I can no longer bear.

Although I let my mind and body remember you, I never stop walking. I can’t get caught up in such a moment. Because to stop would be too close to moving backwards and there’s nothing back there for me.

Not you, not them. Nothing there would feel like it used to and I don’t need to cross the street to know that. You’re just a person I used to know and now we’re walking this earth with a broken piece of one another still inside us.

Hey,

I’ve always hated how the bad times consumed you. Negativity tormented you like a nightmare you only experienced while you were awake. I feel like you never looked outside of your own mind and saw where the sun shined. You would have known it shined on you too. You were trapped in a prison of your own creation; you were the warden and the inmate.

I’ve always wondered if you ever knew how the rest of the world saw you. If you could have stepped outside of your own body and befriended yourself, you’d have fallen in love just like the rest of us. I feel like you never looked at the depth of the smiles you gave and really understood that you were loved. Your soul was cherished and valued far more than you knew.

I’ve always loved the strong face you put on. The urge to fill the world with laughter and joy made you who you are and drew everyone to you. I feel like if that joy could pierce through your thick skin and stain the darkness just a little, things would be different. Your strong face wouldn’t have been a mask, but an actual view of what’s inside. Only it wasn’t, it was a prop you used for the character you played.

Today, I fought imaginary battles, against made-up opponents, in fictional places in a present reality that isn't ours.

I can feel myself getting fed up. I can sense myself wanting to fade back and let things fall silent in my mind.

I don't want to leave this place. But all this noise is just too much right now.

Like a factory on the brink of explosion, I shut down before I overload.

And for a brief period for the sake of deep rest, I go numb.

It's a learned behavior.

An adaptive trait or failsafe my mind built to protect me from myself.

I often let too much in.

I try to carry too much at once, and worst of all, I try to prepare for things I may never carry.

I suffer from giving a damn.

I write because I suck at painting, but I love art.

If I stepped in front of a white canvas and gave it a quick stroke from a paint brush, I'd end up leaving a small streak of some neutral shade of brown across that white canvas. And my attempt at painting the soil in a garden with a shade of taupe from my palette would quickly be mistaken for me using the canvas as toilet paper. To avoid any further self-deprecation, I won't even begin to describe my drawing ability.

I write because I genuinely believe in the beauty and power of perspective and I'm a true believer of the quote "there is always another way". For a singer that lacks a soothing voice, you can always write songs, for a teacher that struggles with public speaking, you can always write textbooks and for an artist that can't paint, you can always write out the pictures through words.

There's no limit to the descriptive power of our languages and the emotions you can evoke from a well order sentence or a perfectly placed punctuation. Words can be just as captivating as pictures and allow you to hold the viewers hand as you walk them down an empty park trail on a summer afternoon while the cool summer breeze hits their skin and you both take in the view of the lake in the distant.

Authors have very often taken me with them on their journeys and never once I have, I stopped to wonder "Why didn't they just paint this?"

I used to think time healed all wounds until I got hurt.

I used to think time would help me forget.

I used to think time would make it hurt less

I then learned time only put distance between me and the event.

I then learned that the more time that past, the longer it would follow me.

After too much time it made it trauma.

After too much time it made it stick.

After too much time I realized I couldn't forget it.

Time didn't mend me.

Time made me into what I am today.

I wish I knew I had to mend myself.

I wish I knew not to give it time.

Two weeks ago, I finished my master's degree in business and I have yet to celebrate or acknowledgement my accomplishment. I feel happy about it, but yet I don't feel proud or even like I've done something grand. And I don't say this in a way to downplay myself, but I honestly thought I would feel more excited. Eight years ago, when I finished my bachelors I was estatic and I defitnely felt it. I mean EVERYTHING changed after my undergrad. I moved off campus, my family came up to celebrate and watch me walk. I started a new job. Life moved forward.

However, two weeks ago, nothing changed. I make the same amount of money, I work the same jo . Even the other day, my VP told me congrats and I responded "congrats for what?" As if everyone knew I finished, but me. I'm not sure what I'm suppose to be feeling or if this sort of numbness or lack of excitement is normal, but its strange.

Overall, I just feel really "light". The moment I got my final grade I felt so relaxed. It was like I finally had piece. My friends wanted to go out and celebrate my parents are super proud, but me I just wanted to finally be able to open my laptop and not have to worry about school work. It feels like the end of a long chore. That's it. I feel like I just cleaned my apartment and I'm satisfied, but there's no reason to throw a party.

As you can tell, I'm not the biggest fan of school. My approach has always been to pass my course with a B or better, rather than learn the material. Only a select few of us elite slackers and underachievers know what I mean by that. I more of a problem solver than a student. After roughly 3 years of school I had forgotten what it felt like to have nothing waying over me. What it was like to be carefree and have nothing weighing me down. It felt.. boring. I've always had this feeling of " there is something I'm suppose to be doing" And even the act of procrastinating those responsibilities was more exciting than having absolutely nothing to do.

So yeah, thats it. I've finished grad school, nothing has really changed and I'm bored and writing my thoughts out to my hearts content. For breakfast I had a 3 egg omlete with sautted white mushrooms, sweet peppers, red onions, and tomatoes with mild cheddar cheese.

I'm sure it would feel like my parents just walked into my room.

I'd look over at God and see there loving face or stern expression.

I'd reflect on the past few hours, days and weeks and wonder if something has happened.

Have I forgotten one of my responsibilities?

Have I been caught in a lie?

Have I disappointed them?

Have I made them proud?

Have I brought them joy?

Maybe they're just looking at me and enjoying what they've made.

I'm sure it would feel like my parents just walked into my room.

And at that very moment when we lock eyes I'd look up at God, and I'd say "Hi" with a surprised expression and wait for their response.

Because why did they just come into my room without knocking?

I don't have your number saved, but I know exactly who this is.

Can I forgive you?

... on one condition.

If I forgive you, then you have to promise me one thing.

You'll walk out of my life for good.

You have to promise me, that you will let me be a memory.

You have to promise me that. Okay!

I need us to go from sharing every moment and missing each other dearly, to someone you give a slight smile to and walk past. Someone who when you hear their name all of our core moments flood through your mind and you remember that at one time I was all that mattered to you.

Until now.

I will forgive you if you close this chapter and change my name in your phone to "the past" and keep it there.

Love is always blind, my friend. Whether it's your first time meeting them or your 10th year of marriage. It's all love, and it's all blind.

Sometimes, it's being blind to someone's flaws.

Sometimes, it's being blind to someone's insecurities.

Sometimes, it's being blind to someone's bad attitude.

Sometimes, it's being blind to our own daydreaming.

But love at first sight requires us to be more blind than average. Blind to the fact that it may just be lust. Blind to the fact that we may just be lonely. But mainly blind to the fact that we're seeing someone so breathtaking that before we even say a word to them, we've already made up our minds about them.

So much that we can't see past our own daydreams to realize they aren't who we think they are.

Regrets are a byproduct of self-reflection.

To feel regret, we have to look at our past and go, "I wish I was better."

The problem is that some of us fail to realize we're only better now because of those experiences. It's as though we appreciate the lesson, but loathe the process it took to teach it.

To be honest, I have many regrets.

I regret my most embarrassing moments.

I regret my biggest failures.

I regret my shortcomings.

I regret that time and time again, I didn't try hard enough.

In life and love, in work and in play.

It's human to have regrets.

Regrets are scars on the soul.

They're the one sign that we're actually evolving.

My biggest regret of all is worrying about having regrets.

Instead of realizing it's human to regret.