letters lament

Dear Her

I'm not sure how to start this. 

I've written so many poems, so many rants, just about you. Secretly, it's all about you, because I'm not sure how else to express what I've been feeling all these months. The feeling come in waves and threaten to crush me, over and over again. Sometimes they nearly succeed, and that's when the pain allows me to crumple in on myself. That's how I ended over the toilet bowl, trying to be better for you. That's how the razor grazed my skin for just a moment, trying to feel something else other than the ghost of disappointment and hatred in your eyes. 

And to think, you were just a best friend. 

That's right, there wasn't any romance. You're not a boy who broke my heart. You're not a passing stranger that murdered my beliefs and threw them aside for the others to pick up. You're a friend who I thought I could trust: you're the one I used to love, with all that I could, because you were one of my best friends, and I could always count on you. 

And you let me down. 

See, I'm the real problem here. It's the way I love people. Friends take over the span of my heart, because I can't see a boy or a love that would actually stay. Friends are supposed to stay, therefore I give them far more than they can give back. Most of the time? I'm wrong. 

And somehow, I like it. 

I like being wrong. Is that wrong? Possibly. Probably. Definitely.

Am I insane because of it? Possibly. Probably. Definitely. 

Who knows. 

Let's go backward in our history. I met you many years ago, because you were a childhood friend of one of my best friends back then. That best friend? She hates me too. And it sucks, because I thought she was worthwhile. There are only a few people in my life right now who I've proven to be worthwhile; now I've learned my lesson. 

Basically, at first I hated you. You hated me too, because you were jealous, I suppose. I was jealous too, of you. Isn't is sad? Mads hated you. She's always hated you, and that made me want to hate you too. So, I did. For those first few years, we only saw each other at birthday parties, and it was easy to ignore each other: it was easy to hate each other. I thought that it was alright to hate you, but my heart couldn't take that. 

I hate hating people. 

It was torture to hate you, when I didn't even know you. For a few years, I let myself ignore that, and merely disliked you for the sole reason of having someone to dislike. 

High school came far too easily. 

That was when our friendship started, at the beginning of freshman year. We both had a common interest, and we started to talk. The talking turned into full on paragraphs of information, and soon enough you asked me to come over. Then, we talked some more. We laughed and we giggled and we cried. And to me, that was friendship in the deepest form. 

I thought you understood me better than anyone else ever had. 

The problem was, I didn't realize what the real friendship meant. I didn't realize the real definition at that point, ten months ago when all of this started. Ten months, has it really been that long? Our friendship only lasted three or four months, and it's been six months since the end. Yet, I still miss you, somehow. You're still on my mind sometimes, and I hate it. I want to hate it. 

I can't make myself hate it.

And I don't know why. 

And it kills me.