And it's like, I could show you something else, I could be someone else, because I am someone else. You show up to that house and you hear your name from across the street and you walk over and you see them and you wish you had never come because you know nothing good will come from seeing these people but you're holding on to the past and you still think you'll wake up in flannel sheets hungover for 8:00am section with Drew standing above swigging from a 32oz King Cobra but you know secretly that Broadway is over and you'll never have those nights or days again and it's really true you're waking up on Tanglewood Lane with not a single important thing to do tomorrow besides go back on CraigsList and scroll for hours.
It wont be back you have to stop holding on because it's stumping you. That it's finished it's done and more than half of the people you spent your time with everyday you avoid on Claremont because they're not yours anymore.
How do you even begin to express the levels of nostalgic sadness that both of them have reprimanded you for.