With the burial of this, comes anew.

It's over.

Goodbye, my dear South.

It has been hell.

And sort of nice.

спасибо,

I never can figure out how to feel.

Because you get me.

And you so just...don't.

You catch the small things

that no one else picks up on

and you see things that don't exist

I could never run very far

before the chain you had wrapped around me

left metal wounds on my neck.

Drop the chain,

I will walk away.

Get over me

and my rain.

Rei

It's already been three days

It's raining and the wind is angry

But there's no reason to be afraid

Because I tell the rain what to do.

But I would rather have control over the wind

A child of rei

I'm anyone, I'm anything

And there's a boy writing poetry about me

I can push him to the back of my mind

Because I'm a liar,

Though technically, I never told a lie

I'm dying on my own accord

Because I am presumptuous

and predestined to destroy

and in myself

I will create anew

Disillusionment has never tasted so....alive.

"Not everything can be deep"

Maybe I want to fill my lungs with water.

After all, no matter where I go,

I'm itching to tear away.

My abandonment issues make it hard to drop you.

But what else is sticking, like a sin, to my bones?

Other than this duplicity, a stain.

There is a line I have yet to cross, not past the point of no return.

But returning would be more of a sin than disappearing forever.

Enie

Meeny

Miny

.........

I already know how this will end, don't I?

Writing again

I'm writing about you again.

About that day I rode my bike to Alfred

In the rain.

Don't worry, though

I don't have enough.... moxie

to write everything, the details.

Just some of the things I remember.

The blurs and dark corners

How the sun mocked me as I rode home.

Hello, so how are you?

I have to go find a lost friend.

That is not a metaphor,

my friend is literally stumbling around somewhere

He broke his glasses

So i'm off to his aid with packing tape

and a coat cause it's Fucking cold out tonight

....hi

Do it.

That's fine.

Leave me behind.

Forget about me,

It's what I deserve.

I won't choke on your memory's dust.

But I will mimic the words I mean, too.

I am still here.

I talked about you the other day.

I put you in a paper that I handed in to my favorite class.

Advanced Non-fiction prose.

And my favorite professor.

He delights in the idea

Of us "communicating" through vague writings.

He thinks it's amazing.

I told him you're amazing.

You are, through by subjective eyes.

Other wise, I don't know you.

I don't know if I ever did.

Or if you ever knew me.

If you just pasted your favorite memory of me

over my real face.

Maybe that's why you were so disappointed in me.

Of me.

I still think of you when I write sometimes.

When I try to get it all down on paper,

and I know no one will understand.

I think about you because

You never understood.

But I still tried.

Class is over now.

Just thought I'd say hi.

I'm glad you're writing again.

I dreampt about you last night.

Maybe it was that old feeling of scorching disappointment in someone I held close to my heart.

Maybe it was the familiar feeling of being on the phone with someone whom you have nothing to say.

Maybe it was the sound of someone else's regrets about what they did with their clothes off.

...or not. I wouldn't know, I wasn't there. I almost was, but "best friends" have a sort of sixth sense.

You could do better.