When the rain falls

And the night falls down
Yea, you've got me here
In this humdrum town

At almost twenty-nine, I finally grew out of casual sex, learned how to light a lighter, and wear eyeliner. I learned that bro-code pretty much doesn't exist, that it's kind of necessary to note you're in a relationship on Facebook, that having trouble saying no only makes situations harder, and that online dating is a waste of time. I learned to appreciate the humor in awkward moments when guy friends think you're down for hooking-up, and, in getting fired from your job boxing pizzas. It was the year when I started gauging everything against forever. It was the year when I let you go. I had waited my entire life for someone to love me in that way, to that degree, and when you came around, I learned the hardest lesson, sometimes love just isn't enough. I faced it with a certain disbelief. Sometimes true stories are the hardest to comprehend because they can shake the reality you always felt you knew.

At almost twenty-nine, I stopped feeling like a failure. That's how it had felt, gauging accomplishments against time, against that of others, against these ideas I had had on what life was supposed to be like at certain intervals.

At almost twenty-nine, you came around again, in a way I hadn't seen since we were far younger. And I played with the idea of you, in that way. Maybe a decade was all we needed. But in reality, the thought of being with you, makes me feel like that 16 year old girl who first fell for you, and I'm not her anymore.

And for the first time in maybe ever, I don't mind getting older.

The former years.