I'm the one that just can't get over it. The one who just can't move on. I'm the one that lets dust collect on my pinned up hair while everybody says 'what a sad sight.' Maybe its stupid and selfish and pointless. Maybe only the strong ones move on and rebuild, and the weak are the ones trapped in time. But maybe I have to let myself stay trapped. To feel like somebody cares. To feel like somebody is guarding those memories. Tending to them, reliving them, remembering them, every day. To feel like somebody is protecting the person you used to be. Maybe I can't move on, because somebody has to keep that person alive. The person you used to be, who only exists now in memory. Just in case you ever want to come back and find that person, I want her to be polished and remembered and well cared for. And if you never come back for her. If she gets tired and dusty. She gets dusty with me. I refuse to move on, because of her. She earned it, she deserves it. There's always somebody who doesn't get to move on. And it's me.
