I know you don’t really care about me.
Not that I blame you.
I don’t really like you either.
I suppose dislike is better than a lie.
But sometimes, I wish we could have gone on like that.
Put together through mutual need.
One alone, but together, both alone.
I guess it was meant to be, the moment we both opened our mouths and said,
New school, new you, new world, new me.
I have never stayed long.
I know their faces, remember their names.
Then it all blurs together again, with the others.
I’ve never had a real friend.
I’ve never trusted anyone other than myself.
But then there is you.
Should I scorn or admire you?
The you who has always been home.
The you that hasn’t seen any world but your own.
The you who only had me, the one time we both left and met, at the same stop, like two wayward travellers, drenched with rain.
It might not seem like much, but I hope that I meant to you what you meant to me that day.
I had to protect you.
You were so frail, so naive.
But then, so was I.
We were brave in our own ways, smart to our own degrees.
We complemented each others’ flaws.
We were nearly all bad.
I, with no home.
You, so far from yours.
You got on the bus, and fled, leaving for your true place, where your real friends still smile.
But I walk.
The rain floods out my emotions, leaving a husk behind.
The sun bleaches my organs brittle white.
The wind blows the tears out of my eyes.
The snow freezes my mundane smile.
The hail breaks against my weary brain.
I have no shelter, no place to go.
And so I will forever fade beneath the will of the elements.
I hope you made it to your home.
I hope you are safe now, with their lives, so real, glowing around you, warming you.
Giving you the warmth that I couldn’t, even as I cared for you. Like I thought you cared for me.