there was a time in our lives when we could talk about almost everything and anything under the sun, moon and stars. or we could just sit together for hours without talking, just enjoying each other's company.
there was a time in our lives when we could finish each other's sentences. or sometimes we didn't even have to... we already understood what each wanted to say.
was it really that long ago? maybe it was.
don't you find it odd, that whereas before, we never used to run out of things to say to each other.. now we have nothing to say? that now, whenever i see you... we don't even say hi, and just to ask you how you're doing feels strangely inappropriate. and so sadly unwelcome.
it feels really odd.... because you were almost like my diary in those years. like a notebook that i wrote the story of my life on. and i always felt i was the same to you. i used to know you a lot. i used to know the story of your life, too.
i still do.
i wonder where you put mine? i wish you'd kept it, like i kept yours. but i can imagine you simply threw those pages away. and left only fresh ones for someone else to write the story of their lives on.
so that now, when i want to look for my story on your pages... i'll never find any traces of me in you.
funny how there was a time when you were the most important person in my life. but now you're just like a stranger.
that's why there's nothing to say.
at all.
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