There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave
You were what I wanted
I gave what I gave
I'm not sorry I met you
I'm not sorry it's over
I'm not sorry there's nothing to save

Do you celebrate the beginning and mourn the end, or do you mourn the beginning and celebrate the end?

Is it best to ignore the pains that happened and to celebrate the joy or to remember disagreements and keep them close to your heart and weep over the happiness once felt?

6 months has elapsed. This should have been a night for celebration, a memorable day spent perusing the little nooks one shares. 6 months ago on this night my wildest dreams came true - and indeed were they a wild dream. On his end Your Ex-Lover is Dead was playing on repeat. It slowly evolved into our song.

It is strange to think about that song. It certainly didn't celebrate the beginning of love (well it never actually began mutually, if you want to put it that way) instead it was the experience of meeting a lost love. Strange song for a strange couple.

Instead today was spent at a bookshop which was mutually shared, but not at the same time. Imagining him ghosting through the white shelves and gingerly fondling Atlas Shrugged as yet another quirky French film played on the television and the air thick with Camera Obscura (or Saxon Shore, today's playlist). A place. His place. Would it ever be my place? A secret kept in my heart and following twenty-four steps behind him, like a little kicked puppy?

Tonight however, the song is the one I sing - the very place I hope to reach one day where I am able to say that I'm not sorry that there was really nothing to save instead of mutely humming Reunion in my heart. Does he even remember at all or has he succeeded that much in mentally erasing me?

For I am seventeen and half alive.