The Scrap Book

The End

Yeah, I'm fine.  Really its all so much better now.  I hardly ever get those anymore!  I'm perfectly fine.

Who am I kidding?  Fuck, I dont know how they believe me.  I never thought I was a good liar.  Everyone always told me they couldn't see me like how I really am.  A hurricane is what I am.  I'm a spiraling storm on the inside, but all they can see is the errie calm on the out side.  Well, almost all of them.

Phil got it.  He was the only person who could see past it.  Despite all the walls I'd build to keep people out, he always found a way in.  I'd tell him how much I hate that he can see into me like that.  Now he knows everything to break me.  But he'd just smile and say he'd never hurt me.

And god, I remember when that was true.  I remember when that was true; when hurting each other was something we had nightmares.  I guess we're just living nightmares now, because that's all we seem to do.  A new argument nearly every night.  Its all my fault.  I know that, but I can still blame him for it right?  No.  Not right.  He deserves a better friend than me.  Hell, everyone deserves better than me.

Tears sting my eyes as I crash on the floor and bring my hands up to my face.  

Why can't things just go back to normal?  I keep trying and trying and trying.  God, I don't think I can try any harder than I already do.  I try changing myself and being a completely different person for him.  I try to transform the person he used to say he loved everything about for him.  How ironic.

Now the tears are pouring out.  The sticky wetness soaks my cheeks as I let out soft sobs that cause the dredded pit in my stomach to deepen even more.  I can practically feel it like its trying to pull me inside myself and drown me in my own sorrow.

I open my puffy eyes trying desperately to calm down my rapid breathing and heart rate.  It doesn't work out well until my eyes land on something on the floor across from me.

Frantically, I wipe my eyes and stretch my body awkwardly towards the book so that I can grasp it tightly and pull it back towards me.  The dark leather cover looks back up at me with a piece of printer paper taped on the front reading:  "SCRAP BOOK!  2009 and UP!"  The scrap book I started making when I met Phil.

More tears pour from my eyes.  I open the cover.

I'm instantly met with the picture of Phil and I holding up heart hands in the first Phil Is Not On Fire video we ever made.  That image alone is enough to send a burst of emotions through me, but I can't put it back down.

I continue flipping through the book of images throughout the years.  We've come so far.  We came so far together, and he was my best friend, then I fucked it up.  I fuck everything up.  

Another sobb, and Im slamming it down on the ground leaving the very back cover revealed.  "The End"  is written in big, happy looking letters.  

The End.  

And then it clicks.  That's how I'm going to do it.

Somehow, I manage to work up enough strength to stand up and walk over to my dresser.  In the bottom drawer on the left under every possible paper is the letter.  The letter I wrote two days ago.  I put it back here to make sure he wouldn't find it, and I guess it worked.  Then again, he never really had a reason to go through all of my shit anyways.  He doesn't even care anymore.  Him even talking to me is merely a fantasy now.

I skim over the letter with sad eyes.

I'm sorry.  Dont hate me more.  I didn't mean to ruin our friendship, I just wanted to be with you.  Fuck, I love you.  The End.