Ramblings

So I'm having a short crisis, where I think that those 22 months were pointless. I mean, if I really had to give reasons, I could, but they still feel pointless. I'm hung over it so often, and I've moved on to the next one, but I wonder why. What's the point of all of it? Why does it end up bothering me so much, and what is the purpose of it? I don't know.

You know, I never wrote down a single moment with you. I don't have a single diary entry dedicated to you. None of my happiest moments are written down. None of them. And maybe it's for the better, maybe it's a defense mechanism, so that I cannot be intensely sad re-reading them when they are all gone. I'd like to think I could be happy re-reading and remembering them, but perhaps that would create a false sense of reality and I would spend so long imagining the past. This is what he mentioned. He said he saw no point in dwelling in the past, forgetting the present, and he said there was a certain hypocrisy to his allowing himself to be close when he knows he plans to leave. Who's right in the end, because I cannot let go of my nostalgia. It's because it pervades my essence that I refrain from keeping too many trails of my past, or else I would drown in my memories.