Your hair was as dead as your dreams and thoughts as you packed your things and moved out of your tiny little house, your father and his dying girlfriend in distress. She was dying of cancer and you didn't care, that's what all the adults said anyways. But I think differently. I think that you did care but you didn't know how to react or treat others. The news of her having cancer hit everyone hard but it's something that we were ignoring the possibility of for years. She smoked constantly every day and only drank beer, maybe the occasional glass of boxed wine if she was feeling fancy and had guests over to chat with, her voice sounding like gravel. She was old and now she was slipping from us all. When you heard the news you isolated yourself more than you ever had before, your dad yelled and screamed at you, saying how you were disrespectful and rude but you really weren't. I remember staying nights at your house, laying on your bed while you played games on your computer, rambling and saying whatever came to your mind. I remember sitting on a bench by the lake with you and you telling me all your deepest thoughts and emotions, removing your mask temporarily and letting me see your true identity, who you really are. I knew you better than anyone else but you wouldn't let me stand up for you or back you up. You thought you could handle it all on your own, but you couldn't.
Now you're with your grandparents and separated from anyone you really cared about, separated from me. We were ripped apart and thrown away like an old school note that was passed during detention, never to be seen or read, or put back together to reveal the hidden messages and meanings. I always think about you but I feel as if you've forgotten about me, but you haven't, have you? We spent years together, how could you wipe that from your mind so easily? Its damn near impossible.
I noticed you started drinking and smoking cigarettes which is a shame. You had such a pretty face and body that you worked so hard on, it's sad to see it go to waste like that. You once told me that you would never end up like your parents but now you seem to copying them in every way possible; the smoking, the drinking, the sex, the recklessness. Everything that you're doing is a shadow of what they once did.
I wonder if you found another me, if you found some other girl to crack you open like an egg, revealing the delicious insides, the secrets, the dreams, the past, everything. I think about if you ever mention my name, if it ever rolls off your pale, chapped lips and flows into her ears like the melody of your favorite Motionless In White song.
I realize that I'm possibly wasting my time and words here because you'll never see this or me again. Maybe thats for the better, or maybe its for the worst.
