I miss you. Because when it finally seems like I've ripped you out of my mind, something occurs and all I can remember is how I leaned on you. How you took care of me. and stroked my hair, coddled me on the phone, told me it was okay. That's all I can think of. Exactly how much do I wish I could call you, cry to you, and have you tell me it's gonna be alright? I'd give anything for your comfort right now. I just want my best friend back. You were the easiest to cry in front of, the one person I could be completely honest with, and know that you'd still love me. THere was ever a single secret I didn't confide in you, up to the very end. I want you here now, sitting next to me, with your hand in mine, crying with me, and letting me know that you love me.
Because no matter how horrible everything seemed, looking back; it was all made simple with you. You could smooth away any situation. With you at my side, I'd survive against anything. and now, when I feel like I need you most, there's nobody. Not a single person to take your place. You were one of a kind, my thorn amongst the roses. You were constant. I liked that.
I get headaches trying not to cry, now. I get migraines from just trying to forget. I can drink and smoke and pretend I don't still feel a void. But I do. I feel your absence constantly. I miss you every second, I think about you everyday. You're the sadness, the absence, the pain. You're every thought I have that's against the persona I'm attempting to convey. That awkward silence is you. It's you because it's quiet, it's careless, it's cruel, and thats exactly you in every word.
I want to call you right now. I know those ten digits by heart--another useless artifact of my history forever imprinted in memory--***8031642. I'm not stupid. You wouldn't answer. And i feel shitty enough without you just making it worse.
I wonder every single day why you don't care about me anymore. How you could just go from being my best friend, to some distant observer. But really, it happens all the time. I never imagined you were that ordinary. I think i held you up too high on your pedestal. I think I expected too much from you. And when the going got tough---you ran. That is how situations end up this way, with me begging for you, and you ignoring me.
I like to think you're pretending. But I'm a wishful thinker.
The party's over with power outages. As June approaches, withering minds try to focus because our finals effect graduation. Jumping is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. And he's on that ledge, soaking wet, holding a blue cup of rum, and persuading me to take deep breathes. It's fifty feet or so. And you know you'll survive, but the ride down is nauseating especially when you've been drinking. These are wanton acts of teenagery, part duex.
We have officially lost our minds. "This pool closes at nine" orders from the security guard, but it's not his problem because "my mommy said I ain't gotta be in the room 'til midnight. I ain't goin' nowhere, 'n I ain't scared a no one." Apostrophe at it's finest, and alcohol at it's highest. Let's say---fifty feet, hmm? And land in a creek like a wrecking ball. You're cute when you're calling me stupid, and telling me to put on my clothes.
Liquor is my problem, not yours. I have wine with my chores. I wash my face with miller, and rinse my hair in heineken. It feels. It just does. Like captain is in my blood, and nicotine in my veins. Maybe this is fate? To die from alcohol poisoning. It's a little too elitist, but I'm sure they'd understand.
The Jumptree is a microcosm of high school. The ledge is senior year, the water is the future, and I'm perched above, scared out of my mind to do what I've done before, and hit the water, and feel the pain. The slack-nailed pieces of plywood to climb the tree are actually the first three years and middle school. If you fall off there, you're sort of fucked. Small balls is community college. I never jump there. What's the literary term for taking an analogy too far? I have now reached uproariously canny. and oversitting my unboundaries with pleasant confoundaries. The zip line is true to its word. That's absurd, you've forgotten about the canaries we saw last fall, you are. Oh, leander. Oh, nine. Oh, hell.
Say goodbye to nonperishable items. and hello to refrigerator madness! Thank you for distributing your empathy for ungrateful symphonies of cacophonous limericks. I am Limerence. And I have accepted this.
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