Me, Mo, and the Many Bushes We Know…

I do miss you. You made the hardest of decisions, to save me from myself. From an antiquated idealism that was slowly destroying me inside. The cure, well, the cure was distance, difference, a burying of that ideal for the sake of living long enough to have new ones.
I was always terrified of growing into myself, becoming who I am. I knew, even then, it meant our time together was limited. “That” me would undoubtedly dislike you… And you were never to fond of that version either. The beautiful is temporary, like you’re so fond of pointing out.
I felt like Moses in a way… I know that’s absurd, but I, like him, made early mistakes. Costly mistakes. I spent the rest of my time fighting, well, begging, for redemption. Then I had it. Slowly, my life was taking a turn. I was alright. I was going to live. But then, like Mo’, I let anger get the best of me… Ugh. I let pride eat my dinner, drank my shame, and had shots of guilt for a nightcap.
Now, me and Mo’ share a similar fate. Neither one of us will get to see the promised land. I’ll live, I’ll love again, but I can never go home. I burnt that bridge with the bush that asked me to do it in the first place.
Everything I’ve learned, all the ways I learned to be better. To love you better, they’re all for someone else now. It feels anticlimactic, or worse (a bit more clichéd), throwing pearls to swine. Like I learned all these things to make it better back then, knowing I could never go back.