I hope those friends who I’ve left with no words never think of me the way I think of them whenever I remember them. It hurts, yet it’s my fault for leaving. I chose to be alone when people were there for me. Yet, I blamed them for my solitude. It wasn’t their fault that I kept reaching for the void in spite of already crawling out of it, multiple times. It’s not their fault that I am so angry at myself, that I project that anger onto them thinking that they did me wrong but they didn’t, oh no they didn’t. We could’ve been friends'til now, but I am an idiot. A selfish loser who thought being alone was better, and leaving was for the best—and now I suffer by looking for versions of them in other people. I keep looking for those people who have depth, she has depth unlike any other. I miss her so much, or perhaps the way her mind is wired is what I keep missing. Because everyone I meet right now is shallow. No one still deserves that rooftop spot with me except for her, however I am aware that I am only waiting for a ghost that rests in peace and refuses to haunt.
