The older I get, the more my contact list becomes a graveyard. People I used to tell everything to are strangers who don't recognize me on the street. I hold onto them for the memories. The ones I will never forget and worry they'll never remember. I worry I'm the only one who cared. That every laugh was a Friday night for me but a Tuesday afternoon for them. That the secrets I was scared to tell were words they barely read. That they only hugged me because I opened my arms first.
I saw my high school best friend at the mall last Christmas. I even recognized his family. I stood my ground peacefully, but he never looked. And if he did, he never saw. I pushed myself to keep going as pieces shattered off of me. It was so fucking loud, I'm sure someone had heard. But all my tragedies were as silent as the messages, not from you.
4/9/23
