Hiraeth: A Study in Nostalgia
It’s foolish to miss something so mundane.
I repeat this over and over in my brain. Yet the blankets in my bed are too hot, and the sheets are too cold; the air is stagnant with a lack of blood flow to my head, and I can’t stop thinking about the past.
Memories are weapons in the hand of those who use them correctly, and I? I am fighting a civil war inside my mind.
I don’t miss her, I tell myself. I don’t miss the small girl with the red hair the fiery temper to match. I don’t miss the way she claimed to hate to stare at people’s eyes yet always met mine. She rambled on and on about her interests and knew every little detail of the games we played together.
I don’t miss him either, the boy who is a man now, who had eaten a few too many meals during his life and had enough hormones to grow a beard but not a mustache. He always made me laugh and always made me angry. He killed me a video game then hugged me close in real life.
More than anything, I don’t miss the two of them together. I wondered if they were dating the first time I saw them in the never ending halls of school and persisted in my quest to learn the exact formula of their relationship for three more years. She asked me if I was foreign when we first met; her parents did the same, but he knew immediately I was from America. We were inseparable in her safe and warm house. I felt as though I had a proper family there, and he took comfort in being away from his drunken mother.
But I romanticize our past. We had too many problems. She was offended at the drop of a hat, and he was offensive every chance he had. I played mediator, an interloper in my own friendship. But it didn’t matter as long as they stayed friends. If I could keep my makeshift family in one piece, I was content.
Hands grab my blankets and pull them to my chest.
I don’t miss them, I say.
But then, I’ve always been a talented liar, haven’t I?
A fleeting glance
Rhetoric of Silence
The writing blog for a girl with too many thoughts.