She opens the window for a glimpse out And heats a spoon over the stove Feels a familiar sting and then slips out With a window that isn’t quite closed With the window open and the stove still lit, Along with the rain came a gust of wind, Which blew the fire out, Gas still running and her still breathing the gas in. She builds a rocket out of stars in her spoon, Straps up, the only way to make it to the moon, Dear god, I hope you haven’t forgot This young brave astronaut
To be able to say, I did that or, I’ve done it, would be one of my greatest accomplishments in life. I finally want to begin doing things that I can be proud of, that my children can be proud of, that one day becomes a story to my grandchildren. And so on. Seventeen years on, I want to accomplish feats that you would be proud of.
I don’t feel bad about it anymore. After seeing you in person for the first time in over a year. After you not muttering a word and not even speaking to one of your best friends because he was sitting next to me the whole night, I finally realize the person you became. It’s become slightly disturbing looking back on the person I once loved and called my best friend for four years and seeing who you are now when I’m around. People move on with their lives and I had a little ounce of hope that you had done the same with yours but it was just out of my reach. A year late, but I’m glad I realized that what you said was never true - I wasn’t the one who ruined your life, that decision was all up to you.