You left the diamonds and your favorite keychain at my house

That day they fell out of your pockets.

My advice is, next time don’t swing so high.

Sometimes when Mom is yelling,

I think I can hear you fight back–

Your voice being just an echo

In the slimy cortex

Between my ringing ears

And twisting tongue.

Neither of us are fading; that’s not how life works.

You actually melt–

Picture that Jolly Rancher popsicle you wolfed down.

You’re a candle burning at both end,

A torch lighting it each day,

Shorter, shorter.

All I can say is: don’t you dare melt away before

I can find all the missing marbles from under the couch.

Currently remembering how you looked up on that cliff.

So here’s your letter:

I will start by saying that I don’t know a lot of things.

I don’t know what happens after you hang up.

I don’t know what is revealed on the car ride home.

I don’t know what you think about at night or in the mornings by yourself.

I don’t know anything.

But I do know what the cold does to your mind.

I know why you hate wearing jeans,

And I know why you ache and break your back

Carrying your duffle bag home.

I talked too much again.

I was the bustling, bubbling lap dog

The party crowded around.

I barked and begged for the spotlight,

Anticipating the gentle hand of acceptance.

Unfortunately the world doesn’t take too kindly

To wolves with face paint.

Like roadkill, I am exposed to the elements.

The flood came and went

And now I’m a flopping fish.

Pathetically clinging to bait, like an unsuspecting bass.

Or maybe I’m the eagle that scoops it up first,

Swallowing it whole, swiftly dancing in the sky,

Calling everyone for a grand opening of my heart,

But I think I’ll stay inside, out of the plummeting rainfall,

For I am just a domesticated dog of a girl

With a chained mind and a soul of gold.

Today, I am missing you.

I feel selfish. I guess it was time.

But I wasn't ready.

I let that sink in, "I wasn't ready."

I had so many more mouthfuls to tell you.

Every fact you didn't know, every new thing that happened,

I want to go to your service and just quit mourning afterwards.

But I know that's not how that works.

And I know you'd want me to be happy,

And I know these things happen, and they even have a term for it,

But I wasn't ready.

And today I'm missing you dearly.

I'll hang up now but,

Please give me a call back.

Waves of emotion pour upon me. I’m drowning.

I just want to feel the sun on my ears again.

Why does everything have to be this sad?

I’m aching in all the wrong ways.

My tired eyes owe my brain a lot, and the debt is stockpiling.

I can’t stop the shudders and sobs.

This is me, raw, and I hate it.

There's so many different types of eyes.

You've got eyes like dark blue, ocean eyes that stare, begging for us to play kitty cats like we used to.

You've got icy blue gazes like glaciers in my grief through daily storms.

You've got gray knowing eyes that match your hair and expose your time here on Earth, and it all showers over me like a cold compress to a headache that lasts all day.

Sweet brown eyes, like almonds I consume when I'm desperate to not pass out at 10:30, and you place your hand supine on the table, asking for some even though your eyes make up for them.

You've got extravagant emerald eyes that guide me through the wildflower fields of my troubles and hug me every moment I must tremble.

As for me? I've got these hazel orbs that lock in on all these intricate patterns that knock me to my knees and kick dirt into my mouth.

People are always fascinated by me. This is a simple fact I've come to know and live with, not something I assume. I am the strange gunk in everyone’s science project; they all crowd around when I react to things, especially when I get unstable. I guess I’ve been this way the entirety of my life; I’m not sure who I’d be otherwise.

We’re all hypocritical in many ways, but I feel like a walking contradiction. I obey rules, but I desperately claw for moments of unpredictability I can control to take the spotlight. I want love and attention. I want a pat on the back for trying even though I didn’t make the part. And maybe a rough stubble of a slight beard while a kiss is planted on me, the lips plump and smooth- not cracked and bleeding like mine. I want to be the one everyone wants to cradle because I am so fragile and broken that I might shatter if you let go.

I get on my knees and pray every night, asking for another chance to prove myself. Being granted another chance is like being invited to the dinner table, with possibly a place to sit.

I guess what I’m trying to say is:

I’m sorry for breaking your fence.

I’m sorry for shoving you to the ground.

I’m sorry for breaking your face and blowing my cigarette smoke in it, too.

I’m sorry for relentlessly letting you down.

I’m sorry for stealing the attention every second you were trying to breathe.

I’m sorry for everything.

I quit smoking, fighting, and crushing my chance for change.

Maybe now I can say goodnight and mean it and no one will think anything of it.

A few visuals for you:

My anchor, sinking the ship.

The burning eyes in the back of my skull (which I’m surprised haven’t given me scars yet),

And those hazy eyes finally taking it easy.

I’ve gotten a horrendous bubble gum cough from

Whenever you left me in the freezing raindrops,

Which tickled my nose and mixed fairly

Well with my crocodile tears.

Behind anything I can comprehend,

There's something swimming in my stomach.

Sloshing my food,

Giving “monster headaches” a new meaning.

I feel I’m just a shell of a smiling, shining scholar.

I threw up again.

"They're dating!"

"My mom said it!"

It's out of me, bile sinking into the carpets.

I did it now.

I replace thought after thought in surrounding minds.

"I'm upset!"

"She's being mean!"

Maybe I need pills, or just water.

Maybe I just need God and some positive reinforcement.

After all, no one ever did pay attention to the

Attention Seeker.

I wish we never met.

I hate your silly quirks and your teddy bear form.

I hate your shaggy beard and your soft brown locks.

I hate your style and how you make everyone laugh.

I especially hate your soft kisses and warm embraces.

I wish you had never pursued me.

But most importantly,

I Wish We Never Met.