I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I’ve said it again, but really, who’s bothering to count anymore? I’ve lost track anyway, as I’m sure you have. It’s not just me who’s said it, though I’ve said it far more than you when you’ve owed me just as much.
Where have you gone? To the arms of yet another girl, as far as I’ve seen. Maybe that’s too harsh a judgement, but you should know that that’s how it looks to me. I’d imagine you have a similar perspective of me. Funny how easy it is to be so hypocritical, so hateful and so plain mean when we both know we’ll always come crashing back into each other in a while.
As much as I resent you, I need you, and as much as I hate you, I love you, too. Why can’t we figure this out? Why can I still not understand what I am to you, and figure out for myself what you are to me? This destructive dance that we’ve been doing for as long as I can remember is exhausting.
You’re my first memory, literally. I doubt you know that. As much as you know about me, more than absolutely anyone else, I’m sure that you don’t. It was second grade. Do YOU remember? It was innocent. Young. Naive of what cataclysms we would lead each other into in years to come, because the simple truth is that we’re bad for each other. We’re poison. It sets in like clockwork. We’re perfect for a while, then the toxins set in until the dramatic end, and then we play the game of silence, kind of like now. Make up. Hit repeat.
I wish you’d be the one to break the pattern.