Life gave me lemons.
And I didn’t have the recipe to make lemonade.
I tried to improvise. I failed. It still tastes sour. And I keep thinking about lemonade, five years later.
Tonight I had a thought: maybe he wasn’t the one who got away. Maybe it was me.
A version of me that I miss. A version of me that everyone talked about. One that I’ll never regret. But one that I’m beginning to forget.
The me that woke up sure of myself.
The me that laughed.
The me that loved obsessively back.
The me that believed in a future.
The me that woke up excited. The me that went to sleep safe.
The me that wanted nothing more.
Where did she even come from? The space before him – or during?
Can I get her back?
I don’t miss him. I miss me.Return to issues