When we were young, it was soft. We never dealt with tedium like we do now.
It was like we were threaded together on a Chinese loom, so tight. I’d never fall asleep worried about what you’d do the next morning. We jelled, as one may say today.
I never recognized how special our situation was, until my habits really started to effect you. The way you’d react after those nights of drinking cheap beer. My corndog breath exploding into an all day fight. I see it all so clear now. You were over it before it even began. My immature brain didn’t think you were worth sacrificing my new fun life. I refused to listen to your reason, your screams, your cries. I promise you it’s loud enough now. I sit here, suffering, listening to the echo of your pain inside me. I’d love to shout, “I’M SORRY!” I’d love to make amends. I’d love if we were even just friends.
It’s awful in this state, kicking myself everyday for what I’d did to you. I’ve cut all ties and broken your faith, there’s nothing I can say, nothing I can do, and all I want to do . . . is POO..