because i can't play the piano at 2am.

Today, I was asked if I was okay, by someone who obviously isn't okay. I said yes, because this is what you're supposed to say, and I even if I wasn't okay, I wouldn't want to share that with you, or anyone for that matter. He proceeded to say, "so you're over it then?" to which I didn't respond, because I'm not big on lying, but I wasn't in the mood for the pity party that would follow the truth.

Being okay has nothing to do with "getting over it." They are two seperate spheres, and while they may overlap in small places, they are not one body. You cannot equate them with each other. Please, argue with me. I have so many examples that will prove you wrong in less than 6 seconds.

I know a girl who says she fell in love with a boy. I believe her, but to explain to you why, would lessen its meaning. She told me her story one morning while we were working together, because it was early, and there isn't a lot to talk about while staring at glass double doors, willing them to stay locked forever. I don't know details, but I know her story. She had a baby. His baby. He left her at some point, but didn't bother to give her back the pieces of herself that she had given him. Years later, she is okay, but she is not over it.

I know a boy who cheated on his girlfriend. She had the same name as his girlfriend, and probably reminded him of her in some ways. I don't know everything they did. I don't know if it meant anything to him, but it meant something to his girlfriend. He waited months to tell her. He said he regretted it, but they ended up breaking up anyway. I know his story because I'm not an idiot, and I put two and two together before he wrote it down for me. He is over it, but he is not okay.

The light you should be seeing, at this point, is that they are not the same.

I think that being okay is remembering the things that broke you, over them or not. Remembering, then smiling, because they aren't stopping you anymore. I am not over my things, in fact, I will get angry and upset if you even mention them around me. Some things get embedded into you, they become little scars on your bones and little dark spots in your bloodstream. Some people are able to get rid of them, and some aren't. The latter, though, can still be okay. Just give us time to adjust, eventualy, you will not even see those scars. Only we will know they're there. Most days, my scars are invisible. To prove this, I will tell you that...according to a boy that knows my secret, I am unstoppable. According to the girl I cried in front of last Wednesday, I am funny. According to a guy I met last week, I am the fucking bomb. I am not saying any of these are true, but obviously, those scars and dark spots are being hidden pretty well. You don't say someone is the fucking bomb, if you think they are an emotional basketcase.

And they're right. I am okay. I love almost every second of my life. I probably laugh more than you do. I am surrounded by people who you would be lucky to talk to, much less hang out with, and share memories with. I am, to say the least, "okay."

But I am not over it.