< 3rd august >
dear diary,
this is another letter to the same person as before, the one i wish i could give these to but never, as long as i physically live, will.
today i had a dream where we talked it all out. you fought with me again but you also looked at me in that way again. your unafraid, appreciating, benevolent look that made me think i held stars in my eyes, the one thing i've been yearning from the past six years. i told you everything, each and every detail we've exchanged through aplology letters we don't have enough courage to give to each other directly. this time i cracked and i spilled all about how i loved you and still do. i told you about how i tried so hard to hate you but ended up hating myself because you did. i described all that your friends said, each and every thing i did to myself because of it and for the first time you listened. you sat there in your pool of regret and shame and didn't try to ask me to forgive you cause you were a dumb kid who didn't know anything, you knew that if you said that i would've said "what about me? i was a kid too, and way less special, less wanted, less wiser than you. why couldn't you think of the consequences on me?"
of course we were in that dreadful classroom, sitting the same way we used to, i was a bench ahead and you were behind me and everyone had the audacity of staring at us but they had no idea what was going on. i was yelling and angry like always except this time none of your friends interrupted and they let me finish. they let me yell and cry and scream at your face. they knew what they did.
after i was done, i looked ahead for some moments then tilted my head backwards, down to face you and you did the thing that you did on days i was too lucky. you held a part of my face and brushed your thumb on the edge of my mouth for a second with those apologetic, unpredictable eyes. i flinched but didn't dare to move a single breathe because i knew that i would never get to see this delicate perspective from your mind again.
i woke up after that but my thoughts died in that moment. now i'll be using this dream that never happened in real life to console the screaming, eerie, unlovable child standing in a pool of oozing blood in me. please look at me like i be not just a melancholic moon but the sun and the stars again, please look at me like an actual, deserving person again. please look at me again, even if to despise my touch.
faithfully,
a past friend
YOU ARE READING
open scarlet letters
Non-Fiction"we're so young but we're on the road to ruin, we play dumb but we exactly what we're doing we show off, our different scarlet letters" (new romantics, taylor swift) the chronicles of a not very stable person recorded through diary entries. a new a...
