A small world brought you back to me,
The you of now, so not my you.
It happened once before, and I got a little lost in the moment. I tried to say hello, to remind you.
You didn’t want to be reminded.
Time is strange like that.
You were strange like that.
You were strange in away that made me love you.
I didn’t really love you, because honestly, I was a kid.
I still had braces and only used semi-permanent dye.
I was reaching for sunlight.
What the fuck did I know?
You were a college man.
You had scholarships and a whole life that I couldn’t even pretend to imagine.
You were radiant.
What the fuck were you doing?
Did I mention you were dating my sister’s best friend, who was also mine?
That’s a pretty important detail, it should probably be told.
It should be told that you pursued.
You sweetly asked for me to my mother’s face,
Then you took me to your room and you set standards for men to come.
It should be told that you are not good at carrying guilt,
But excellent at shifting blame.
I never told. I couldn’t tell.
I guess I didn’t know what to say.
No one would have heard anyways because everyone stopped speaking to me.
In a school like ours
Things like that spread like fire in a library.
I could have talked to pictures of you in my locker, but the words that your girlfriend carved on the outside were not of the conversational variety.
Even my mom hated me for you.
Quite the trick you played on all of them, and me.
I would have been impressed if I wasn’t incensed.
So “fuck you” it went.
There were volleys of lyrics, glances, and one really awkward dance for good measure.
And fuck you and your beautiful face a couple dozen more times.
The braces were off, the boobs were in, the hair was purple for good, and
I would never let you know that I cared, or that I ever did.
I felt you staring at graduation. (Not mine, because in reality, I was still young.)
I had to leave and get out of there.
I didn’t even stay to see my sister get her diploma.
(She still wasn’t talking to me, so I doubt she knew or cared.)
Then the first words from you that weren’t some one else’s.
You had me at “I’m surprised you didn’t burst into flames inside the church.”
I had you.
Matching blue hair, games, clans, NIN, fans, a tattoo for me. We had.
Then she tried to die, and you left again.
I didn’t know.
No goodbye, no explanation.
Only sudden absence.
There was nothing.
I never took you for the kind to fall for such emotional terrorism.
You did and I didn’t,
So I got to be the villain all over again.
You signed up for four years of death and murder.
Four years of long distance.
I clung to the news and was sick every time they read the names.
Everything about you made me sick.
Ten years later you’re alive.
You are free and you are married,
You’re obsessed with death.
How could you not be?
Turns out, I’m still a bitch.
At least to hear you tell it.
And I have.
I’m not a kid anymore.
You would know me to see me.
The blue hair would tell you, the tattoo would tell you,
The way that I don’t hate you anymore would tell you.
That’s all you’d ever know.
Because I could never tell you about the violence that I’ve seen too.
The ones that came after you,
The ones that just had your traits I was after.
And how in a way I blame you for them,
For the violence,
Because you taught me that’s just how it is.
That people leave even if you do it all right.
That I can be erased just by someone pretending and lying.
That’s really where the story ends.
You’re good at endings,
So I’m sure you’ll understand.
Except I’d like to know,
In this small world,
This world where you like to pretend I don’t exist,
How do you explain the missing years,
The locks of hair,
And the vitriol?
And how about that tattoo?