So I haven’t been doing too well with dates lately. (And that’s putting it nicely.) Besides knowing Max’s birthday (July 11th), I promise you that I hardly remember the day of the week. But according to the desk calendar in front of me, today is Monday, July 18th. How did I not realize it until now? How did I type it multiple times today and not recognize its significance until right now?
Last year on July 18th I wrote this post: we were both young when i first saw you. i close my eyes and the flashbacks start. Those are the thoughts that composed my mind on this date last year, and now all I can say is, “Wow! What a difference a year makes. What a difference 8 years makes!”
Although I can still vividly picture the moment that cute boy appeared in my nineteen-year old life, today I find myself embarrassed by how many July 18th’s I’ve
spent wasted reminiscing about the past. How many days within those years I spent holding onto his memory and foolishly believing we’d end up together- eventually. However, more so than embarrassment I find myself relieved that I finally let him go. I know this to be true because not only did I forgot to remember today’s date, but I also find myself questioning why I feel the need to write this post about him today.