Miss You.
I sit under an old tree, under the stars. My face looking up and out, into the sky, the galaxies... universes. Maybe another world, totally different from this one here. This one down here.
Maybe a world more forgiving,
friendlier,
lovelier,
than this one down here.
I sigh as her face comes to mind, her hazel eyes and brown hair.
I close my eyes, tightly, when I think about the hurt she was going through - emotionally.
No one accepted her, cared about her.
Except me.
But maybe one person isn't enough, or perhaps it was just too much for her. Too much hurt, too many scars reminding her of her pain and troubles. Too much negative attention given to her.
To her gentle heart, and fragile mind.
Bit by bit, all the bullying, labelling, it broke her mind and her heart. It broke her as a whole.
She had enough, and well, she ended it.
She let herself go from all the pain, to somewhere better, at least I hope somewhere better.
Somewhere where she is free, where she can fly, soar. Like a beautiful snowy owl.
''I miss you,'' I break the silence, all the thoughts, by whipsering the words out into the night, for all the stars to listen.
I miss her. So dearly.
She was always with me, always near. And now, when I want someone to talk to, I sometimes - accidentally, start talking, as if she's there. As if she's standing next to me, or behind me, as she used to.
It would be hard, when I'd realize she wasn't there.
But at the same time, she is. She always is.
She is near.
She is far,
she's with me,
but she's not.
20.6.2020
I miss her
I miss her strength and determination.
I always admired her faith that she could one day change the nation.
I miss her ability to rise after she had taken a fall.
She always told me if I ever needed her all I had to do is call.
I miss her gentle smile that was contagious.
She could have you inspired with her positivity it was outrages.
Most importantly I miss the woman she use to be.
I miss her so dear, because that woman was me.
Most Of All, I’m Sorry
Ever since I lost her friendship, I've fealt awful.
When I see hoolihoops my stomache knots, and when I go into my garage I just want to leave as fast as I can. I haven't listenedd to music on my radio, since I listened to it once when she was over. Every time I think of Anne of Green Gables, I want to cry.
I've dreamed about her, too. I see her in my dreams, and she forgives me- it's wonderful, until I wake up and feel awful.
Every time I even think something arrogant or know-it-all-ish, I hurriedly drown myself in my books, only to remember her whenever I think about cellos or Hufflepuffs.
I remember all the lunches we've had togther and all the times we made each other laugh, all the times we would wait for each other to finish getting dressed after P.E. so that we could walk to class together, even when we risked being late.
I also remember when she stopped waiting for me, talked less, and started doing things with other girls. I remember the times she stareted ignoring me completely.
I did something a little rude, and I got what came around.
Who's fault it was, who did the worst, who deserves to be shut out completely, it doesn't matter. My eyes are still tearing as I write this, and I miss the girl who used to be my best friend.
Most of all, I'm sorry.
Aphrodite
It is highly unlikely, because nobody likes me.
Comfort can’t find me, as I search for her love ever so blindly.
Oh Aphrodite, break free from such chains which were used to bind thee.
Mortal myths of our love, all I have to remind me.
Of unbreakable vows and sweet silver linings.
A sort of consort which had others whining.
My graceful wind chime that danced with mankind and did it so kindly.
Up you would wind me, till in rage I was crying.
High we were flying, now the grounds where I’m lying.
I’ll endlessly search, I’ll never stop trying!
For my heart without you, is much worse than dying.
Every year.
He used to come every Christmas. He'd be here without fail: a smiling, jovial face, dressed in a warm coat that flowed down to his boots, fuzzy mittens on his hands, and a homemade hat that dangled over his ear. He'd always pop in when I least expected him, sweep me up into a giant hug, and ask how this year went. Whether it was good or bad, I always told him. And he'd always say I was doing a really good job. Then he'd hide my presents, pat me on the head and send me on my way.
The last time, it was raining instead of snowing. He arrived later than usual, and he looked sad. I asked why, but he just shook his head. "My time is up," he said softly. "But it'll be all right. Just remember: I'll always believe in you." Then he patted me on the head, put my presents under the tree, and left.
I didn't understand at first. My mother hugged me, and my father said it would be okay, but I cried anyway. I didn't know why. It felt like I'd lost him forever.
That summer, someone told me he wasn't real. I didn't want to believe them. I tried so hard. I plugged my ears and pulled my hat down to cover them, as if it would keep me from hearing the words. The other kids laughed at me. I tried to explain, but they were sure I was wrong. They asked questions like, "How does he know your name? How does he know what you want? Why does he always bring presents?" After a while, I gave up. I said I didn't know.
They said it was mother and father. I didn't want to believe them, so I waited. I sat on the couch, across from the TV, and fell asleep on Christmas Eve, waiting for him to appear.
That was a long time ago. I still wish I'd seen him, one last time. If you know a man with fuzzy mittens, and a long red coat that flows down to his boots, and a homemade hat that sticks out over his ear, please let me know. I just want to say goodbye.