I had a blog entry in mind but then I reviewed the text (hint: not a cellphone text message) that triggered me to write a blog entry and realized that it wasn’t for me.
Guess it was one of those feelerette times.
But then, what’s my lost?
He’s not going to be able to read this anyways—-he won’t, I’m sure.
I have sources saying that he’s moved on somewhere near nirvana but farther from death.
I’ll answer the question I thought was meant for me.
Yes, I’m doing well.
I am happy.
But the thought of the possibility that I would have been more happier right now—saddens me.
But I’m going to make it.
I’m going to reach the end of this.
make a new memory.

When am I going to know when I should let go or I should hold on?
I think I don’t need to answer.
I think I just need to let time answer it.
Why regret waiting for the answer?
I could do much more of my time being idle.

And I hope this will be the last time I ever mention your name.
or even a pronoun that refers to you.


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