What's Become of You and Me

I hate what's become of us. There used to be a time when things were all right. We used to be able to talk, to hang out, to do all the little things that add up in the end. There used to be a time when we didn’t know what separation meant. You could almost say we came in a package together, and it was impossible to separate us. However, somewhere down the line, something went terribly wrong. The wrong voices, the wrong choices, everything unimaginable soon piled up on top of each other like a pyramid, and toppled over onto you. 1

You were a wreck, and even though you couldn’t bear to tell anyone, you always managed to tell me. I was that one motherly-figure, the one that wipes your tears and puts a band-aid on your wound when it’s torn open from some cruel force. But I’ve run out of band-aids, and you’ve supposedly run out of wounds. I like to grit my teeth at that remark, smile and bear it, but I know it’s not the case. You see, there’s a decomposition in my mind, filing and reorganizing so many memories, from such a short time ago, that it almost seems like those memories and good times never really did die. I look back on the pictures, videos, drawings, games, outfits, stupid things we did, everything that made us, and I realize that it was for real. But only as real as you made it… 2

I know you haven’t run out of wounds, and I know you aren’t smiling when you go to bed at night, for sure I know I’m not, for I hold some of your deepest, darkest secrets, that would make you crumble faster than a cracker in soup, and you know it too. I hold the key to the void in your heart, and that one abandoned spot at the back of your mind, that is triggered every time you pass me by. So ask yourself, what went wrong? Why did we stop seeing each other? Why did we stop talking? I ask myself those questions every day, and I seem to look for the answer in your eyes whenever our paths cross, but I can’t get deep enough to figure out the answer. 3

Every time you pass me by, I feel the urge to run up and hug you, to say some corny inside joke, to talk like old times, to vent my frustrations to our favourite songs. But I can’t do that, I just can’t. You’ve isolated yourself from everyone around you, and even though I tried to reach for your hand, you pull away and hide by his arm. Your world revolves around him, it’s almost as if nobody else exists unless they fit his profile. I sigh reluctantly, and force myself to dive in to a future I am not ready to commit to. If only you were still around, you’d be able to see that I need your help. I need your encouragement. 4

I walk by you in the hallways, laughing and smiling, pretending like I’m resistant to your cold stare that you send at me; pretending it’s okay to be abandoned by someone I trusted with my secrets, my negativity, my future, my aches and pains, my embarrassments; my life. I walk by you while gripping his hand tightly, praying that he won’t abandon me like you did. Suddenly, he looks down at me and smiles, asking what’s wrong. I look up at him and instantaneously, my façade is in play. My insecurities exploding from my seams, and with my heart in my throat, I pray you don’t see my pain through my eyes, so to win this battle, I try to distract myself, by acting like I’m actually looking for someone else who cares about me. 5

This sadness envelops me every time I think of you or the memories we made. I often wonder if you even care that we stopped talking. I often wonder if you even appreciated the times that I tried to fix the friendship. But memories now, are just a figment of the past. We are characters in a story called life, and in this story called life, each character has a story to tell. That’s why I wrote this, because you’re still an active character in the story of my mind. But your character has ceased to make footsteps, and refuses to shine it’s light on to the stage with mine. So here I am, standing in the spotlight by myself, exclaiming my soliloquy. But I’m tired of this acting career, smiling when I can’t stand to, tossing and turning, when all I want to do is sleep. So this is my last serenade. The curtains will close tonight, and the play will end. No more will I speak of the memories from a short time ago. No more will I speak of the person who I called my best friend, the person who abandoned me for a guy. One she now calls, her best friend.6