Dear A.

Spoken word.

Dear A.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry it had to be this way, I’m sorry things weren’t easier, I’m sorry I’ll never be sorted, I’m sorry I’m too difficult to handle and I need a babysitter all the time, just like you said. I’m sorry I fall for every guy I meet and only try to see the good in people. I’m sorry I make everything about myself. I’m sorry I thought we were closer than we actually were. I’m sorry I’m hydrogen.

Dear A.
I couldn’t be of help and I just ruined things further. I’m sorry I said I’d be there and I wasn’t. I’m sorry I fell for you, too.

Dear A.
I envision us meeting, hundreds and thousands of times, playing, replaying, every move, every thought, every word, until I perfect it. Five- maybe ten years down the line.
Sometimes we meet at a Café Coffee Day.
Sometimes we meet at the school reunion.
Sometimes, we just cross paths — somewhere, in the middle of nowhere.
I think of what I’ll say, I think of what you’ll say. I wonder if you’ll even talk to me.
I think. I think. I think. Ten years would be okay, yes? Maybe your anger fades away. Maybe you wont think I’m a narcissistic self-centered little bitch anymore. Maybe it’ll be okay.
Maybe, not.
Maybe you still don’t want to see my face. Maybe you still think I’m overly sensitive- which, in all honesty, is probably true. Maybe you’ll want to slap me and tell me to get over it, and just, Fuck off.

Dear A.
I know what you say about me, too. I know, and it hurts like a bitch. I probably deserve it, though.

Dear A.
I never wanted it to be this way. I liked your friendship. I thought you gave a shit. Maybe not. Maybe you did. I don’t know. All I know is it got fucked up, big time. All I know is even though I don’t ‘bitch’ about you, like you say I do, I still get the awkward sympathy-slash-pity smile from people when we end up in the same room.

Dear A.
I’ve not been ready to let go of the friendship for a very long time, thinking it was just a phase, just a spat, that maybe you’ll be back.

Dear A.
I’ve never been more wrong.

Dear A.
I’ve taken a lot of shit from you, just hoping to mend things a little bit more, and instead, screwing it up all over again.

Dear A.
You were nice to me... for quite a while. ThankYou.

Dear A.
Was it really that bad?

Dear A.
November 16th, 2012.
It’s been a year and a few months. It’s been… 566 days. 814,680 minutes, as I type, since we were actually ‘friends’. It kinda hurts to even think about it.

Dear A.
I wonder if it was over much before that day.

Dear A.
I wonder if it ever was, in the first place.