the girls we followed home*

i remember all the girls i've followed home. and i also remember - perhaps even more clearly - the girls that have never followed me home. those who haven't tried to stop me when i was leaving. those who didn't closed the door before i crossed it never to return. those who didn't hold my hand and say i'm sorry when something as simple as that would have mended most wounds. those who never dared to follow me in the dark streets. i remember each of those moments, as i look back now - just as i looked back then, alone in the street at night, hoping for her to follow me and tell me how much i mattered. always in vain. they have never been worth it.

i would like to believe that one day, there might be someone who wouldn't simply let me leave. but i'd like to believe even more that i would never again follow any girl home. i am, however, unable to believe in that; first, because all my pessimism and disillusionment hides a little hope that i can't get rid of (and would i want to?); and because i know that, when the moment arrives, i'll follow her home. whoever she might be.

* title shamelessly stolen from here. i'm sorry, but i couldn't resist: it triggered way too many thoughts.