And Why the Hell?

I keep going on and on about this, about her, about missing her and the dreams and the nightmares and the going to the old apartment; about the bed being empty and the uncertainty and the fear that I'll never feel that way again and the fear that I'll always feel this way forever. Why? Because I will move on, and I won't feel this way and I'll forget-- because you always forget, because you can't hold the memory of the taste of the awfulness for long-- and I want to get it down now while it feels like it has weight. It doesn't' though. No weight, and no significance. It's only a matter of time before I not only know this, but I feel it also. Then all these words will seem stupid, as I'm sure they do to you.

Will I be right then, or am I right now?

and who cares?