29 May 2007
♥ burn, baby, burn!
I guess it wasn't technically a "bonfire," really just Kelsey's dad's little fire pit on the back porch. And we didn't do it all that ceremoniously, we mostly just handed the boys a box of old history notes and told them not to burn the house down, which they almost did. [Note to self: Do not allow college boys to play with lighter fluid, especially when Connor's amp is sitting about 6 feet away from the fire.]
But when the sun went down and it got cold outside, everyone else went in and there I was, sitting between my two very best friends in the whole world, and we were ready to burn our dirty little secrets, our insecurities, our heartbreak, our disappointment, all the things that have been bringing us down.
I burned a letter to the one person I hate more than anyone else in the world, the one person who's made me more miserable, who's made me cry more times, who's left me feeling awful about myself more often than anyone else. It felt good to watch his name burn up, to watch the old photos of us warp and shrivel, to feel like I was finally ridding myself of him. He called to apologize yesterday, you know. If this hadn't happened a million times before I might almost be able to believe him.
I burned a letter to myself. I want to move past all those things I've let myself believe, all those awful ideas I've developed about myself. I want to be me again, to be able to stop worrying what everyone else [someone in particular] thinks of me.
And I burned a list. It's a list of things I want to forget. A few standards--doubt, insecurity, constant worry, and the like--and a lot of words that seem really small for how big they are to me.
We cried together because we're afraid to move on, but we know we have to. I'm really, really lucky to have the best friends ever invented.
But when the sun went down and it got cold outside, everyone else went in and there I was, sitting between my two very best friends in the whole world, and we were ready to burn our dirty little secrets, our insecurities, our heartbreak, our disappointment, all the things that have been bringing us down.
I burned a letter to the one person I hate more than anyone else in the world, the one person who's made me more miserable, who's made me cry more times, who's left me feeling awful about myself more often than anyone else. It felt good to watch his name burn up, to watch the old photos of us warp and shrivel, to feel like I was finally ridding myself of him. He called to apologize yesterday, you know. If this hadn't happened a million times before I might almost be able to believe him.
I burned a letter to myself. I want to move past all those things I've let myself believe, all those awful ideas I've developed about myself. I want to be me again, to be able to stop worrying what everyone else [someone in particular] thinks of me.
And I burned a list. It's a list of things I want to forget. A few standards--doubt, insecurity, constant worry, and the like--and a lot of words that seem really small for how big they are to me.
We cried together because we're afraid to move on, but we know we have to. I'm really, really lucky to have the best friends ever invented.
5/29/2007
