memories of our past

S

You slowly stopped talking to everyone but me, I was afraid I was next so I did everything I could to keep you around. I held you at night while you cried and them, and him, and her.

I watched you burn the world in your imagination. I saw you distracted yourself from yourself.

One way was books, you loved them. Mostly Greek tragedies, you said they were so realistic in a way of emotions. You loved knowing that it never ended well and i think you told me that it reminded you of your own life.

I wanted to ask you what you meant but you had been getting so mad recently that I didn't want to push you away so I sat there and listened to your voice while you held me tightly til i fell asleep.

I always woke up before you, and I would stare at you, respectfully of course. You never looked happy anymore even though when you walked out of my room a smile never left your face. Despite how painful it looked watching you plaster one on.

I'm not sure why I didn't act, why I didn't say something.

I should've.

You always held me close when we were in public even though I never knew what we were. You always protected me, especially after I told you what happened.

One night after a party I had gotten drunk. I could barely stand, so you had taken us home. You basically lived with me at this point and when ever my parents occasionally came home they got use to seeing you around.

You had dropped me off at my house laying me in bed and kissing my cheek. You told me you had somewhere to be, so I told you goodnight.

I hadn't heard a word from you for weeks. I asked all your friends where you were,
if you were okay. I was scared because you were the only thing that made me feel normal.

Then you came back, late at night and drunk out of your mind. You knocked on my door at three in the morning scaring me. I was happy that you came back, you were laughing wildly.

Talking about how you almost went into the sky. That scared me because I was starting to understand why you loved the sky so much.

That was the night you told me about her. She was 7 and she loved the color yellow. She dance and sang, she was beautiful and brightened a room by just walking in it.

It made sense why I first saw you that way, you acted like her because you wanted to feel her with you. You thought acting like her was going to make her come back.

She was sick you told me, she was dying and everyone knew it. You didn't want to accept it and you told me you would go days without seeing her.

You abandoned her and that hurt you, worse than her death itself.