on this day.

billy, once a good friend.

vi. BILLY, ONCE A GOOD FRIEND.

billy, the nicest friend. billy, a pal, wonderful soul, someone who always understands. he told me yesterday he liked bugs, watched my face turn sour in disgust. he never asked if i wanted to see, but he told me he held them earlier in his hands. billy, the grossest of all. billy never answers my questions. i don't want to be friends with billy anymore, not after what my mother told me. he sits in the corner of the room, with boys who love bugs too. i can't bare to look at him, how could he be so disgusting. all he talks about now is bugs. bugs, bugs, bugs. he apologizes, admits that he can't control it, but i ignore his sorry and don't swallow my pride whole. it took a year of hate from the world surrounding him. only a short time period for me to realize that him liking bugs wasn't that big of a deal in the first place. i went to the tree house, behind the barn his father built. i climbed all the way up to the top, a smile stretched on my face, ready to enjoy this liking of his. but instead of playing with bugs, he swung from a rusted rope. he left a single note, half for me, another half for his parents, and a small section for his favorite bug.

billy, one out of many, who finds his liking in bugs. strange billy, but still was one of the nicest friends anyone could have. billy, a pal, wonderful soul, someone who always understands.

poor billy, but he liked bugs. 
bugs, bugs, bugs.

and i was the one who made sure everyone knew how much billy liked bugs for i didn't want my other friends to like bugs too.

because surely,
for everything i know,
the world is better 

off without bug lovers.