Down The Corridors, Round The Corners

I'm writing this in the library. And it's because I've spent fifteen minutes here about an hour back that makes me feel like I've had the wind knocked out of me. That's a shame because what I saw and read in those fifteen minutes was actually very beautiful.

It's just that it also reminded me that there is no substitute for time, that five years don't really melt away. That my attempts at "creating our own history" will fall obviously and painfully short. That, for all the compliments and the rose-tinted glasses, this is still the most uneasy compromise I've ever been a part of. That I'm being unfair in expecting, forgiving, forgetting and then expecting all over again.

If I'd written this an hour ago, I might've told myself, "you saw it coming, this was always going to be the knife in your back, whenever it came" but the fact that I'm not really thinking such things itself tells me that there is, in fact, no substitute for time. Which is also perhaps why I don't understand why I haven't spoken to my best friend in over a month.

God forgive me if I end up sacrificing a Fairy Tale or two before I sleep tonight. But there's very little else that can make up for the fact that, despite everything I've (and, indeed, we've) tried, when it comes to those perfect little visions of happiness I make myself believe in, I'm as as far away from those ideals as I've ever been.