things i should never say.

This morning on BART, I was seized with nostalgia for a special someone who was never that special at all. I think about him from time to time and all that we never could be - because we make no sense at the end of the day - and it makes me feel lonely. Forever, endlessly lonely. I think of the moments of passion I've had so far in my life, when I surrendered myself to a nighttime and let it be. I think of him. The train flashed by stations, through dark tunnels, into patches of light and fog. I didn't move the entire time. I just thought of that one night. Through the cold streets, up and down stairs, dancing under a disco ball, into his car, looking through windows, collapsing on concrete. I don't think of that night as a mistake. I certainly can't say I regret letting it all come to the surface, all those years of latent longing. I just wonder if things will ever be quite the same again.

I came across his picture in a stack a few inches high. He looked foreign, unfamiliar. All I have are pictures now. Perhaps things are best this way. If I ever saw his face again, I'm not sure what emotions would surge through me, and that can't be healthy at all. In our past, there were some days of elation and others where I began to contemplate futility. But the days of laughing on couches, bad movies, grabbing my wrists, beach houses, muddy shoes, and snow falling in Northern California washed away all of the times that hurt me. Now all I have left are pictures I don't understand. Five months ago, I would have killed for this distance. It wouldn't have ruined everything.

Five months ago, he brought out a side of me I forgot existed. I remembered how carefree I could be, how innocent and happy. It's that feeling that drags me home every chance I get. Now that I can't remember his face, home feels more like a house I grew up in than I place I belong today. He has a way with me. I like to think I have a way with him. Both of us smile uncontrollably in each other's presence. And, yes, I know I am being overly sentimental. It's easier now that he's not here to prove me wrong. Because I know that if he were here, he would prove me wrong over and over again. He'd have a wonderful time doing it.

Now. Now I have this. I have proof of a past, as all photographs are. But I have no promises of him to bring me back to whatever carefree Carrie once existed. Lucky girl. Only, I'm sure he'll prove her wrong too.