by lexthedestroyer » Wed Dec 27, 2017 4:44 pm
dear e,
I feel gross that I still think about you. I shouldn’t. You were terrible. You were dismissive of my feelings, only talked about yourself, and I told myself that it was normal, that I had to wait my turn to talk about myself. But when my turn seemed equal to fifteen of yours, I should have realized. I’m glad I got away from you. But a part of me misses you. Because some nights, songs still make me think of you. That’s a lie; whenever I hear our song, I remember you. I think of you. I hate it. I remember how I would have followed you wherever you went, a dutiful disciple. I’m worried that if you asked me to do something now, I would, immediately, because it’s you. If you woke me up and asked me to run away with you, I’m afraid I would jump at the opportunity to leave with you. Because it’s you. It was always you. You were magic. Maybe you still are. Or maybe it was always smoke and mirrors, and it’s only now that I’ve learned to see past the illusion. But a deep,dark, buried-deep-inside part of me misses those days. The days we sat in the ravine and talked of exploring. The days you told me things that I shouldn’t have cared about, but I did, because they came from you. Something in me misses you. And that scares me. Because if you came to my house in the dead of night and chucked pebbles at my bedroom window, I would sneak out and meet you out in my backyard and wait for you to talk of the adventures we’d have. I know I would, and that’s both terrifying and disheartening. I thought I was better than this. But you’re not Peter Pan, and you were never going to save me. Maybe that’s my job to do that for myself. Maybe someday, I’ll forget your name.
-L
