Poetry of Death

I hate you and I love you. By M.E.

Hey, I'm sorry.
We were both just children.
I'm sorry I changed, I stopped being that girl,
I'm not even one.
And if I were you I'd probably have felt the same.
You said I was dark and evil and devilish,
I responded with an equal amount of anger.
I went over the line, even if you were wrong,
and I know I apologized already,
but here I am trying to express.

Made a fake person, just to yell at you,
thought I'd not have to take the responsibility,
but because of “her”, you snapped,
you left.
And I begged you to come back, you were so bitter. 
Reread our old texts tonight,
yeah, I felt both our rage.
I was angry, I was helpless, didn't know how to convince you back, 
you are angry, you were stronger, you told me no and you followed your word.

Last year, I sent you something.
Asked for forgiveness.
Begged for it.
I'd had enough of this silence, it crushed me to death, 
I remember crying into my pillow one night thinking it was the most I could ever cry. 
Boy, was I wrong.
Now that I see what we said, 
I know we were just stupid kids, 
but yet you left your mark on me,
and guess what? I don't think you'll ever read this.

But I thought we were best friends.
I thought we were forever.

You pressured me into playing a game,
I never had any care for it.
And I did, I compromised,
but I forced you to do something else in exchange.
This isn't what friends do.
This isn't what friends are like.

I think maybe a part of me stayed with you,
I'm just shattering to pieces, slowly, slowly, now.
I don't know what's wrong with me.

I loved you, maybe I still love you, 
no, I just miss our memories.
I miss being so carefree, singing all the time,
not having to worry about the future. 
I miss not knowing this would happen, 
I miss being friends with you. 

And it's been two years now, actually,
since we fell out.
Last year I talked to you again,
we were sort of friends again, 
but the awkwardness, damn, I can't stand it.
Last time I talked to you was a couple months ago,
will we talk again?
And it's been three years actually,
since we were in the same class, 
since we were best friends.

We met when we were six.
But now look at us.
Time really wears things out,
I know it sure did to our friendship. 
Maybe we were too similar,
maybe we were too different,
or maybe we just had different ideals.
And I know, people change,
people lose and gain new relationships,
but I can't get over this.

I think maybe you were my first best friend.

My heart aches, it actually hurts,
even now as I'm putting this down
in an effort to stop these feelings.

Memories, fragmented and shattered,
they go through my mind, 
it's the same old ones. 
She knows about them, 
she shares most of these memories,
but she's fine. I think.
So why am I here,
suppressing these tears?
why am I here,
writing these words?
Why does it still hurt? It never meant much.
I always took you for granted.

You said I hurt you, I know I did,
but back then all I could feel
was my own rage at your words.
And I'm so sorry, I always go overboard with anger, 
I combust like a bomb.
I know I need to control this.
But it's so hard, 
everything is so hard,
sometimes I find it difficult to even make it through the day.
And I think of the account name that you gave yourself back then,
you never touched your account again. 
You used to read my books. 
You used to write my books. 
We used to be friends.

I miss you, I miss that,
I miss fighting with pens, I miss whispering in class,
of course, there are people I can do that with now.
But they're not you.
They're not you, and I'm grateful for that. 
I love them. But… you.
I don't even remember what we were like.
But I miss you, I miss being friends, 
I miss eating lunch with you, singing with you. 
Why am I so hung up over you? We were only friends.

Sometimes I see you on the street,
I mostly avoid your gaze.
I smiled at you a couple of times - you never notice.
You're with your friends now. 
I hope you belong, I hope you're happy. 
I hope you're glad of where you are, 
I hope you don't regret not trying harder to stay with me and her.
But then I hate you.

I hate how you said I was dark,
I hate how you said I always made myself the best, 
but actually, it was true.
You were right.
I was in a weird phase at the time. 
I promise I'm different now: I'm worse.

I know we'll never be close again.
I know it's both our faults. 
So why does it still hurt?
Why?

I hate emotions, I love emotions 
the same way I feel about you.
I remember what you were like
You liked dolphins.
You liked blue and turquoise.
You liked wolves - part of our conflict.
You liked red-brown hair and green eyes.
You were taller than us.
Your glasses were blue - you don't wear them now. 
I wonder how your dog is now. 

Why do I remember?
We were so young. We still are.
But it feels like it's been centuries,
those memories are cloudy and far away now.
I can't reach them.

If only I could go back, 
if only I could change the past.
But then I would never have met these people. 
And I like my life. Sometimes.
I don't know, I don't know,
I don't know what I want, I don't know what I don't want.
I need reassurance, tell me it's okay,
tell me someone loves me - but I know there are those who do.

I need to stop thinking about you,
you break my mental walls,
you make me want to cry, whenever I think of back then.
I hate you, I love you.
Why do I still feel anything for you? 

You would probably not like me if you knew me now.
I'm not even the same person,
you probably aren't either.
It makes me feel strange, to know I don't know you.
But then and again, I don't even know myself. 

Using my pain to write, using my emotions to pour words out,
it drains me.
Who even am I?
I don't know, maybe you knew, the kind of worthlessness I am.
Maybe you were right.

Maybe, maybe, almost.
I almost had you back, 
you almost killed yourself,
maybe if I tried harder,
maybe if you tried harder.

But it's too late now.
We've waited too long now.
And even if I tried now, what could I achieve but dig up old wounds?
I'm trying to stop, I swear.
I need to bury these memories.
I will.
I will.

One day, I won't remember you.
Do I want that? I don't know.
Or do I want to write our story? But no, that would be stupid.
I guess time will tell.

My old friend,
I hope you have a good life.