Didn't Matter

I thought it would matter. I didn't think that you would look at me the same way, after you found out how or who I used to be. But I knew that I had to tell you now. Before it got to be five years down the road and something slipped that I hadn't told you. Because really, there is no one else that would have told you. No one else here knows. How I used to go out to parties on the weekend, or to band parties. That my friends like to get me drunk because I was the funny one that liked to spout random facts of information or build beer pyramids. How I used to do these things and not thinking anything about it. Because everyone did. Or so I thought. Until I met you.

But it didn't matter. You were curious as to why. But you were really only concerned with if I still did it. Which you already knew that I don't. Except for the occasional glass of wine every few months or six. You were glad that I told you. It is an important part of what makes me who I am. But you kind of already knew what to expect. And so who I used to be doesn't matter to you. Because you know me now. Which makes me like you even more.