"How Long Can a Girl Stay Haunted by You?"

I'm attempting to write a post to my on-line journal, knowing full well that as soon as I publish it, I'm going to have to re-enter that entire right column, which just leaves me cranky at Blogger for "updating" their whole site. I adapt to change two ways: with great disdain or great excitement, usually, it's not the latter.

I'm sitting here wondering when the past leaves you. I'm wondering when the knot in your stomach doesn't form by the mention of his name. I'm wondering how many years have to pass before people quit asking you about him. I'm wondering if I can truly, whole-heartedly not care some day.

Many memories have been replaced, but many more still linger. I'm passed the part where I long to know things that can only hurt me. I know what I believe is the only limitation I'll ever have. I just don't want to have to look at this scar forever, and frankly, I'm tired of others pointing it out. You know damn well how I got it.


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