Well Shit.

Single again. God, I'd forgotten how much this sucks. Come to think of it, no-one has ever broken up with me before, it's always been me whose gotten tired. Fuck.
Can't help but think back on all the girls I've been with, romantically and otherwise. I'm young, very young, but already I've spent a good deal of time with the fairer sex and not all of it has been pleasant.
I look at the pictures on the walls and realize that I was happy sometimes. There are a few women, though I hesitate to term them as such, who made me who I am today.
If it were not for these girls, I'd never have gone down the path to addiction, and likewise I'd never have broken the cycle. My philosophy on day to day life is still shaped by one week with the most amazing girl I've ever met.
Similarly, my thoughts on death stem from a span of time in the company of another girl who, it appears, has found her happiness at last.
A girl taught me to be savvy with business and not mix it with pleasure.
Another taught me to be relaxed, chilled out and mellow.
The girl who called me Jesus taught me everything I know about being who I am, a hippy-ass motherfucker. She bought me bandannas and taught me that it was okay to be a long-haired freak, and dove off the diving board with me, both of us wearing hemp headbands.
Her antithesis taught me about pain, how to use it, to express it, she taught me what it meant to feel.
Although I've only spoken with her in passing, a girl was the one who revived the music in me, who opened me up to experiencing song again.
I've mentioned her before, but memories of the one-week girl keep coming back. Fragments with a yo-yo, a laptop and a vibrant choker. Of skull beads and pink hair and laughing as we landed sour-patch kids on the roof of the adjacent building, of the beach and the sun and frozen equipment, of lusting after cameras and losing my shirt.
All of these women shaped me, and so did she. I'm not sure yet how, but it will come. It will come with time.