I dont love her, i realize.
i realize my 'love' is another quote from a poem i wrote long ago, it was meant to be just that, a poem, but ripped from the pages it became true.
My love for her is dependent, she has so many others, yet i have only her, i realize, sitting on my bedroom floor as i tell the truth to my mother.
"I did ask, i never forgot, she just never responded."
she looks at me, and her voice softens a tad as she says "theres tomorrow, for her to reply."
she doesnt know that she did reply, she replied with some stupid gif, she took my words and didnt do anything.
i find her message 2 minutes later, when i open up my phone to bid my other friends goodnight like usual, because they reply, even if its the morning, they wont reply with something offtopic.
i hate when people are offtopic, i hate it, i hate how they end what i was saying, i hate it i hate it i hate it.
i hate her, almost, i do truly care for her, but my care its.
this isnt the first time, nor will it be the last, shes not like me, i realize that in the words we speak, i realize that in the way our social lives are so much different, i realize when a friend shows signs of discomfort, or are spacing away-- if she even realizes that, she doesnt even think about it. no.
i wish, i just wish i was back home, i wish i wasnt in this stupid city where beauty and sport and what you can do and what you say, who you date isnt everything, i want to go back home an hour away, home in the bed next to my window, the window i'd secretly open when my parents hated it because i would get ill and chill up the house but id lay on my pillow and count how many times i needed to rest mmy hand on it to for it to warm up but i'd always fall asleep first.
home is in my room, in the closet where i'd put lights in and sit down listening to music in, home is in my room a hour away, in the room with hand stains half the size of my current palm from when i climbed onto my bedboard just to reach up to the glow in the dark stars so i could bring them down and let them watch me as i slept, as i counted them and the real stars to decide if tomorrow was a good day or bad day.
home is an hour away, in the streets where i'd gain my first allergy anf go lbind in my left eye for a while because of, home is an hour away in the streets where i collected sticks for fun taller than my father, home is an hour away in the street where i watched the neighbours baby grow up, the street where on halloween people would step out to give me and my brother candy just because, the street where i fell in love with a girl whose hairband i keep sealed away, the street where i'd walk down, either rushing as i was late ( i had a fear of being late ) or early, watching the trees.
home is in the garage a hour away, where when my parents cars were out me and my brother would ride our scooters and bikes whilst listening to a youtube video before my mother would open the garage to find us sitting there.
home, is away from here, home is the garden my father built for me, with the lime tree that always had limes and the plum tree whose flowers were so beautiful, the apricot tree that grew taller than me in a year and peach tree who was always ill yet so lovely, the sandpit that grew old yet still loved, the cubbyhouse whose wood was rotting yet slide i still loved, the backyard where my father fell in love with a magnolia plant.
The backyard whose deck lights i kept breaking and cricket ball would always roll under, the side alley which would sometimes flood in heavy rain when water would rush off the rainwater basin, and i'd jump in and get scolded for. the front with an old rock i painted whose paint has long since peeled.
i miss home, i miss the friends i made there, i miss them oh so truly, when i didnt have to worry about groups or who i'd sit with when one friend was gone. Gosh, i miss them.
