water under the bridge.

a dry piece of flattened gum sticks to the sole of my shoe. it is the pavement's gift to it. i don't know why i never bother to remove it...somehow, i feel it deserves to be there. stuck on my shoe. that is my scar, an unimpressive, ugly, sticky blob of chewing-gum. it reminds me of the imperfections i have learnt to grow so fond of. the imperfections that mould me into the overbearing glass container that i refer to as 'life'. and the pessimist that i am, it's always fucking half empty. i also have other scars.

ever heard of the phrase 'water under the bridge'? its usually used when one wishes to indicate that they have graciously let by-gones be by-gones.

'Oh, thats water under the bridge'

'what is?'

'that...'

'that?'

that? what exactly is 'water under the bridge'. is it all those times that you wish your friends weren't your friends, all those conversation that slowly pierced your skin into your blood and remained forever a dysfuntional part of your being? is water under the bridge the night that you cried yourself to sleep in fifth grade because everyone at school made fun of you? or is it an apology, you know, from god...for ceaselessly fucking with your mind, smacking you on the ground like dice over and over again. go back three spaces, you're a loser- you deserve to die. water under the bridge. maybe its like the time when stick-thin slut went behind your back, or when brown-fat kid didn't know how to be a friend, or maybe even when you forgive the amazing-man friend for stealing the most important laughter in your life. surprisingly, i don't even feel bad about it. maybe i'm numb. or maybe, it is exactly what it is - water under the bridge.