cue laughing and happy memories,
which slowly die out
History.
Having history with someone,
everything is different.
We've claimed friends
and
acquaintances.
We've hid feelings,
or tried to.
We have memories.
Being obnoxious together.
Having heartfelt conversations.
Sharing laughs.
Realizing how much we actually relate.
Sharing secrets.
Telling each other stuff no one knows.
Making promises.
Keeping them, too.
Gotten ourselves in dangerous situations.
Fighting of stupid little things
and things that bothered us way to much.
Talked about plans for the future.
Saying how we were going to follow our dreams,
make them come true.
They say that once you hit high school,
and once you escape to the real world,
you grow apart.
Don't look at people who you used to care for.
Believe in people who don't care for you.
I thought that was our case.
We were a bunch of childhood friends.
But if I needed you,
you were there.
You always replied.
You were rude
and caring
and nervous
and bored.
I almost didn't look your way,
for more than I needed to.
You were someone
who I had been friends with
who I shared a class, here and there, with.
That's all you were,
until...
Until someone brought us up.
Being together.
Saying we were perfect.
Telling us what we had dreamed of as little kids.
Stupid dreams and future love.
Maybe they were right.
That'd make us geniuses as little kids-
stupid adolescents.
My brain shifted back to our little kid dreams.
I knew yours did too.
Just for a while.
Sometimes,
we still laugh.
You anger me more than anyone anymore.
Some of the stuff you've said.
Some of the situations you put me in.
Sometimes I think I see you staring.
But I wonder,
do I imagine it?
Or is there longing still there inside of you?
As I write this,
I sit behind my door,
with my back to the wall.
Curiosity has consumed me.
My mind has been taken over by stupid kids that I don't even care about.
If it weren't for them
I wouldn't have come to this conclusion.
We'd still be classmates,
former friends.
But now,
I sit and wonder
do we really care for each other?
Or do we loathe each other,
just happy with the company of loathing?
I sit here, writing this,
repeatedly running my hand through my hair,
feeling up and down,
staring out the window
into beyond,
looking to nature and its beauty
as if it were to give me an answer.
Curiosity has consumed me,
but I know, that deep down
there is more than loathing
in your soul
and in mine.
cue laughing and memories
that slowly die out