I just had this sudden urge to die. I always have those urges, but now it’s so strong. My body hurts so much. I really want to cry, but I can't. Ever since last December, I just can't. Everything feels exhausting. I don’t want to get up. It hurts too much.
I’ve become so skinny and frail, and I don’t think I can handle crying anymore.
This is why I can't stand summers. They're too hot, too cold, too free, and yet too chained. And they’re always too boring.
I wanted to talk to you again, but I forgot, we don’t really talk anymore.
I remembered one time when my friend called me boring and laughed. You laughed with her. It was forced, I think. It was two years ago, but I still think about it. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I still think about you.
Every time my mom picked me up from school, I always sat in the front seat and told her about you. Every day. Even when I was sick, I told her about you. I thought of you so much, I thought of nothing else at all. I didn’t look for friends anymore because you were enough. You were more than enough.
You would line up with me during flag ceremonies, and we’d talk like we’d never stopped talking since yesterday.
You’d sit beside me in class and during breaks, and I’d make a fool of myself just to hear you laugh. I always loved your laugh, and I haven’t heard it in so long.
You’d walk with me to the cafeteria. We’d buy the same snacks, and I’d steal from you, and you’d laugh again. I miss your laugh. I miss it so much.
You’d eat your lunch beside me, and we’d watch videos together. I never liked eating in class, but I forgot all about that because you were there. You’d lean in so close I could only see your eyes staring at me, and I’d laugh. I loved it when you looked at me like that. Those dark brown eyes. They made me feel seen. As if I was worth looking at.
And you’d wait for me at the gate. We always went home together. You’d tell me how weird your driver was, how you sat in the front, how you’d put your things away as soon as you got home.
I thought we’d last. I thought you were my best friend.
But then, on that random Wednesday in May, you shouted at me. And in that moment, I saw my father. I looked at you, and you turned away. I got into the car and told my mom you were having a bad day.
The next day, you came up to me and talked like nothing had happened. I just stood there. I looked at you for so long, searching—searching for a trace of that bad day.
You laughed and asked me what was wrong, and something in me, something small and soft, something warm and gentle, shattered.
You always forgot, didn’t you? You turned and walked away as I closed my eyes. I wished I could forget too.
You begged and begged, apologized with no shame in your voice, and asked what was wrong.
I stayed silent because I didn’t know either.
All I knew was that I just couldn’t look at you anymore.
I just couldn’t be your best friend anymore.
I just stared at my stained shoes and told you everything was fine.
You asked again, and we were both staring at my dirty shoes, and it was all gone.
I’m so sorry. I haven’t cried this much since December, but I’m sobbing now. I’m crying.
I miss you so much. I think of you so much. I love you so much. Every part of you is too much.
I wish you’d tell me again how much you hated your mom, how awkward your conversations with your dad were, how you’d run in and out of your sister’s room, how you’d send me silly videos, how you’d talk about your fears and nightmares, how you’d tell me your dreams and hopes, how you’d ask me anything—anything at all—and I’d stop whatever I was doing.
The world would stop whatever it was doing.
Because I needed to talk to you too.
Because I wanted you to know that I cared, that I found it funny, that I sympathized, that I wanted to run away from home too, that I loved you.
I loved you too much. And when you shouted at me that day, I dug my own grave and searched the insides of my flesh to see what I had done wrong—but I never found anything.
I looked up at you, and you were holding the shovel, apologizing. I laughed, to let you know it was okay, that everything was okay.
And I stepped into that old and rotten casket, so that you could bury me.
But before you did, I looked at you and smiled, because despite everything, despite anything that happened or will happen—
romaincrisis
2087
origamiaround
amandla
gracieabrams
