the thing about watching someone fall out of love with you is how slow it is. how hard you try to get it back. the careful, horrible twisting of yourself into an unfamiliar shape - just in case this new form might finally be enough. just in case this next beautiful moment will call them back. each little slip is just giving them more reason to leave, so you try to never slip. in the end, you become accustomed to a strange and groveling perfection - and for what? they don’t love you, neither who-you-are or who-you-became-for-them. you wake up and they are okay and moving on - and you have no idea who you are or how to get back home again.
i’m not sure i’m capable of being loved right now / i feel safe in my quiet way of living and telling my secrets to thread & paper / i don’t know what i’d say if you asked me to know myself / more
i’m too old, can you remind me why we stopped talking? the days are getting shorter again - i wake up before the sun, i finish work after she has already hidden again.
i saw you got a dog - i think. i saw you dyed your hair - maybe. i saw that you like the same television series i do - well, it seems. anything could be happening, i guess. it’s hard to tell just looking at a screen.
i’m too old - why did we fight? i can’t remember what exactly happened. i can’t remember what came up. i’ve been getting better. i’m sorry, if it’s my fault. i’m sorry even if it’s not. i’m sorry even if neither of us did anything wrong.
someone mentioned you the other day, and asked me - do you know her? as if we’d never even been friends. i had to think about it. no, i guess not. i once cried on your shoulder for half an hour about a boy who wasn’t even, like, hot.
for old time’s sake, wanna come over? it’s halloween. it used to be our season. we used to clomp through the leaves together. wanna come over? i just moved, i want to show you my tiny skein of a yard. wanna come over? my dog can meet your maybe-dog and we can drink mulled cider and get over the hard part.
i dont remember who drew the line. i don’t remember if there was even a line ever drawn, or we just grew apart, the way adults sometimes do. i think to text you sometimes - but what if you’re angry?
you used to come to my birthday parties. i used to throw parties for you. it’s kind of hard to picture, these days, as if through a fogged windowpane. a lot has happened since then. a lot has changed for me. probably for you too.
i can’t write today. i wasn’t ever really good at writing for you, specifically, anyway. i felt something too mottled. something that scalded if it wasn’t handled properly.
anyway. i’m too old. i hope you reach out. i am glad you look happy. i am glad that i’m happy too. i am glad we are both busy adults with our lives sparkling like glitter glue. i am glad like ice cream dinners and theme park tickets and closing a book. i am glad to my roots.
but i kind of wish you were here so i could share it with you.
