“i don’t think i ever meant that much

to you in the first place,”

and my heart broke,

because you were wrong,

but i barely had

any evidence to prove it.

for a year

we never spoke.

avoided each other

like the plague.

i wrote

and you drew back

into yourself.

we both tried

to ignore the

gaping hole

we left

in each other’s

lives.

—we both lost a best friend

scene:

you catch my eye from across the room.

i want to wave. your hand moves like you’re going to.

but then we notice that people are watching. your hand stays down. i look at my feet.

when i look back up, you are still looking at me.

for a moment, we just stare. then you offer up a soft, sad smile. just a slight upturning of the corners of your mouth.

i don’t need to hear you say it to know that you miss me just as much as i miss you.

end scene

for the first time in months, i type in your phone number. i type out an apology. i don’t send it, but i almost do. a moment doesn’t mean forgiveness. you still might not want anything to do with me.

when you text me three days later, the first thing i do is smile.

things that remind me of you #2

the color blue / flannels / late nights in front of a laptop under the blankets / skype calls / bedtime / hidden handholding / the true meaning of friendship / uncertainty / movie theaters / ben howard /

/ not understanding /

/ not really trying to /

/ realizing you didn’t know anything /

/ realizing just a little too late /

/ not knowing if you just lost a best friend /

/ or if you lost everything else too /

we began to fix things,

slowly but surely,

brick by brick.

we rebuilt this house

of ours,

put wood in the fireplace

and lit it.

and then,

we said everything

we had needed to say

since the beginning.

—it was almost like starting again

i think it will always

feel a little more

my fault than yours—

the destruction

you left in your wake

was nothing compared

to the ruin

left in mine:

a rainstorm

to an F5 tornado.

—i was always worse

i will never

forgive myself

for hurting you

like i did.

it sits on my

throat like a

deadweight.

—guilt

i told you

that i thought we could

have been great together.

you told me

that we still could be.

it was in that moment

that i realized two things:

one: i did not love us

anymore.

and

two: a part of you

still did.

we still could be

still echoes around

in my head.

i mull over the words

on days where i find myself

entrapped in the past’s arms.

at the time,

i met those words

with silence.

i knew what

they meant,

what was laced around