I don't really have a reason to. Not a real reason. Sure, I can use the excuse that I hate winter; I hate being cold. I could say I 'miss home', but home isn't a place to me. I could say that I'm stressed and overworked, and it would be true. But it's not an excuse. I've been overworked before. I can handle stress. I can't even use the light dusting of snow and ice as an excuse. Because all of those things mean nothing.
This sadness consumes me. Like an empty hole somewhere inside me. And all of the light and sunshine-- okay the dark and twisted happiness around me gets sucked into it. My life is good. I have money issues, but who doesn't these days? I have a wonderful family, a perfectly happy relationship, and I do what I love. But somewhere inside me, that little girl who is still a part of me is crying.
And I know why.
I don't like the reason why. But I can't deny it's truth. And for three long years it's been slowly eating away, like acid, in the pits of my heart. I hate admitting it. I hate looking at that part of my life. My past. It's bright and shiny and fake. All sugar coated and candy covered to hide the rotten parts underneath. But that doesn't change the facts of the reason I am sad. And there is nothing I can do to change it, short of having a time machine. And even if I did have such a contraption, I'm not sure it would make a difference. Most likely I'd end up looping time circles, trying to fix what will forever stay broken, just like in H.G Wells' The Time Machine.
You see, I hurt someone. I hurt them badly. I was a child at the time. I didn't really understand what was going on. All I knew was that something had to change. So I changed it. And it was a good thing. But in the process there was some damage done that could never be undone. And now there is this one thread, this one thing, from my past. Tying me down. Holding me back. I wish I could say sorry, but I'm not sure what I'd be sorry for. I wish I could say I still care, but I doubt they'd believe me. After all, no matter how much I care, it doesn't change me. I'm not the same girl I was then; not the same girl that this person cared for. And I know that they'd be shocked to see me now. And that they wouldn't understand. But I'm still sorry, and I wish they could understand. I wish I could show them. But I can't. Ever.
That person is gone from my life. And I'm left with these tiny threads, tying me the past. Like cobwebs, clinging to my heart. I'll never be rid of them. I'm sure of it.
