8/28 // we were just friends (but damn if that didn’t mean just as much to me as anything else could have)
i.
we were just friends but the
hurt the hurt the hurt
(i said it was fine and i meant it but it hurts)
(why does it hurt so bad)
i told you it was fine and i still mean that,
because if you’re busy i don’t want to keep you
or make you feel bad, but some
part of me that i wish
i could kill (oh, she says i should keep it alive) wishes
(wishes wishes wishes) that you’d
want to be kept, want to waste
time with me.
and we were just friends but the hurt doesn’t
hurt any less because of it. i wish i wish i wish
i knew how to say this
and not make a fool of myself. i wish i could
tell you in a way that
wouldn’t hurt you and would say what i mean—i want
to say: honestly it’s
fine if you’re busy, and it’s fine if you
didn’t want to talk to me, but some part of me
(i wish i could kill this part off) (i am ashamed of this part of me)
wishes you made the time or the effort to waste
time with me. and also, i want you to tell me if you
didn’t want to talk to me at all, actually, and i
want you to tell me if i was
annoying, or clingy, or too too too much. and i promise
that i’ll be happier if you respond to that honestly (even if it’s
a yes, you were, or, yeah, things changed and i don’t love you anymore) than
if you tried to apologize or talk to me more.
can i say that? i don’t want to lose you.
(it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. i wish it didn’t hurt so bad.)
ii.
sitting in short shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt,
in my bed, from where i haven’t moved
in about a week (i got sick, i got weak, i can’t stand),
and i’m trying not to cry
as “supercut” by lorde comes on—
i’m reading the business textbook, writing up
the vocab, just sitting here, contemplating
texting you
and reaching out
and asking how you’ve been.
and i remind myself of what a friend said—
that i’ve got to up my standards,
and that if you don’t reply for days at a time,
for months and months on end, that, maybe,
i should just
let you go
(i don’t want to let you go) (i don’t want to let you go).
and then this song comes on, and i suddenly
feel like crying. and i just.
i can’t help the feeling that rises up in my chest,
that makes me feel like i’ll explode, that
makes me want to cry and ruin this
expensive textbook. and i can’t even
focus on the vocab, i’m so—
i’m such a wreck
over you. we were just friends but
damn if that didn’t mean just as much for me
as anything else could have.
“’cause in my head (in my head, i do everything right) / when you call (when you call, i’ll forgive and not fight) / because ours are the moments i play in the dark / we were wild and fluorescent / come home to my heart”
and i can’t help but wonder—
i’ve been wondering for days, now,
weeks, months—what i did wrong.
you said, at the beginning, that it was you and
not me. (but at least seven other things)
(just like this)
(have happened to me—they stop talking,)
(they stop responding, they say it’s)
(them, and not)
(me,) SO RIDDLE ME THAT, HUH? tell me
why this has happened so much—is it
coincidence? because i thought
coincidence was when it
happened twice. when it happens
over seven times, is it really
you and not
me? whose fault is it then? i
have this feeling that it
might be mine.
but my friend, she says that i have to raise my standards.
i still find myself unlocking my phone and navigating to our long-dead
conversation, and thinking thinking thinking
“’cause i my head / in my head, i do everything right / when you call, i’ll forgive and not fight / all the moments i play in the dark / wild and fluorescent / come home to my heart, oh”