I ain’t gonna lie.
I did exactly what I wanted to do for nine straight years: drink in excess.
So it’s hard for me to say that I regret nearly a decade of my life. There were some great fucking times.
But were there regrets? Situations I could’ve handled better? People I could’ve been nicer to?
Oh yeah! You bet!
The truth is, where I came from, I overstayed my welcome. A good friend told me, for my own well-being, that he better not see my face in these bars ever again.
He meant it.
I never returned. Never spoke with him again.
Some things are meant to be forgotten.
But I can’t help but think: do all my old friends hate me? Do they think about me as much as I think about them?
I suppose that we all separated for the better. It just nags me that there are those I spent years with, whose lives instantly got better once when I left.
Of course my life got better too when I left them.
Maybe I’m just overstating my self importance.
Maybe it’s hard for me to accept that time is gaining on me.