The calendula lip balm I bought back it 2023 is still holding on. It's not in the chapstick form, but in a small hand cream-type of cylindrical box. I put it on using my finger before I sleep. Wouldn't make sense to carry it around with me no more, since my hands are not so consistently clean throughout the day.
I have this weird fixation on using stuff up. Creams, shampoos, soaps, toothpastes, toothbrushes, candies, logs in the firewood, crayons, papers in a sketchbook, papers in a diary, chapters in a book, and so on. I measure time with it, the epochs of my life carry their name - especially with the diaries.
I remember consoling myself with it. One time, I was smitten by a guy. Totally lost, crazy obsessive. He played around with me for a bit, before deciding it was all too much. It all lasted maybe 9 months tops. I told myself: "He didn't last you longer than your lipbalm, no reason to feel so bad" (it wasn't the lipbalm I have now, just to be clear).
People just wash away when you're young. I do have friendships that last, but many, many are simply lost. Time heals all the wounds, they say, and it did heal even the nastiest so far.
Sometimes I'm afraid, though. The blows don't stop coming, I worry I will change and become prone to keep the wounds for a long time, especially as I observe myself replaying the films in my mind from two, three years ago. Now that lasted longer than my lipbalm.
I don't want to be caught up on the people leaving me. I don't want to be caught up on people. I'm afraid it'll last forever.

Mum says she'd never be young again. I repeat that to myself sometimes. She says she was so lost. I feel it, too. I look at her and hope to grow up to be somebody who's... Not in pain, I guess.