Circle

They say, if you love something, let it go, and if it comes back, then you know that it truly belongs to you.1

Your eyes whined and they begged, with each day you lost interest in me, in everything, and I died just a little bit as you spent more and more time staring out the foggy window by the living room. All you ever wanted to talk about was us, about how I didn't pay enough attention, about how I never cared. But all I did was care. Always. You watched me laugh with my other friends, and smile. I invited you in, but you always wanted to be on your own. The anger within you blossomed, and your heart roared with jealousy for them.2

"You don't care about me. I'm just your entertainment. When your friends aren't there, you come to me for backup." It stung. How could you not see how much we've been through? How could you think that I would ever, ever, put a person in that kind of position, especially you?3

I'm not a perfect person. I've met some people, been down some roads, and I've learned to be wary. To not let anyone into my heart so easily. All the laughing and giggling I do out there, they'll never see me for who I really am. But you have. You flew in, and within a week we were best friends. You had me wrapped around your finger, I would abide to your every whim. It scared me. Nobody had ever been so close for so long, nobody had ever broken the wall I built. But you never realized it. When you told me how you really felt about me, you thought that I could never feel the same. But I did. My words meant nothing to you though, you always stood there in disbelief. How could I truly show you anything when I hadn't in so long, how could you see if you didn't expect to?4

I forced it into you. Maybe I shouldn't have, maybe it was too direct. Perhaps I was better off leaving you alone, instead of talking to you, screaming, crying, telling you that you would never see how much you meant to me, how much of a difference you make in comparsion to anyone else. You stared at me with nothing to say, with your begging and pleading eyes, and you left me, alone. I stood by the living room window and I watched you pack, slowly, silently. I watched you leave the house, without even a simple goodbye.5

I cried that night. I never thought that I would cry over anyone ever again. But I did. My sobs were heard by noone as I drifted off into slept, the tears still wet on my cheek.6

I woke up this morning, and stood by your foggy window by the living room. Across the street there was you, laughing, smiling. You waved with the free hand you had, the other clasped with another one. That's how I know.