We met at age 12.
Our relationship was always so platonic, despite being the opposite sex. We were always in love with others, we were always friends with each other’s others.
It didn’t work out with our highschool/right after highschool sweethearts, mainly because we were both cheaters and deep down they had to know it. They both went off to college.
We spent that summer together, brokenhearted and drunk. We fell in love, cuddling secretly, but went about it the wrong way and could never admit what it was.
Our exes were both suspiciously, even though they couldn’t prove anything. Even though we never went too far.
We always feared they would sleep together for revenge.
It’s been about 6 years. We’ve both been with others, even our old exes, but we both knew nothing would work out.
Why do we both always have 3 suitors at any one time?
Why does everyone else keep us apart?
Why are we both so fucked up and yet exactly the same?
Why do we always get so close and then hurt each other?
I can never tell if your thoughtless actions are a reaction to mine, as I promise you that my thoughtless actions are a reaction to yours.
So many nights we’ve spent in the same houses, in bed with others.
So many more still.
I spend my days scouring the internet for your confession of love to me. Knowing you would never post anything like that. Knowing your words don’t mean much anyway.
I feel you in everything I do. I see you in my dreams at night, I smell and feel you next to me before waking and realizing it’s someone else, it’s always someone else.
It always kills me.
The more we grow, the more we look the same, the more we talk the same, the more we can’t look into each other’s eyes because the truth there is unbearable.
We will never be together.
Even if we told all of our friends, lovers, and families to fuck off and finally fled to California.
You would drink too much, find another woman who doesn’t matter to you. Like the girl that reminds you of me, or the dumb sociopathic attention whore that has you wrapped around her finger.
I would get too high, find another man that isn’t you. Like the one who’s everything you’re not or the effeminate possibly gay pushover I found elsewhere.
I’m afraid I’m mentally I’ll, you probably are too.
I lose my grip on reality when I’m this alone and I want to die. If nothing else, you always listened to my suicidal rants.
I’m so tired of acting. I’m so tired of only being able to communicate my feelings for you through songs we play. Sometimes when I’m out of it I look at my arms, and I know I sound crazy, but I swear to God they’re yours, freckles, moles and everything, (except tattoos) and holding myself is the closest thing to feeling you with me.
All I can do is lecture you about your life decisions, you always get mad.
All you can do is ignore me, expending all of your energy on lesser women.
I’m scared that I’m sick and I’ve created all of this in my head. You’re like this with everyone.
I’m ashamed that I frequently imagine walking down the aisle towards you to the whistling of Patience.
I never wanted to marry.
I’m mortified that you and I will always live separate lives, so intertwined, ending up with other people, less like us.
You’re my twin.
I see you in everything I do.
Is it as hard for you to live with half of yourself missing as it is for me?
I hope that in another universe, we’re very happy together.
If I don’t last in this one, you will be in my thoughts.
Forever and always.