#silver.original

[silvers-writing]

I’m your favorite shirt that accidentally gets put into the wash wrong. Maybe I got put in with a different color and now I’m no longer the color that looks good on you. Maybe I was ran through the dryer and now fit too tight in the shoulders. Maybe my logo is a faded, blotchy version of what it once was.

I’m still in your closet, for whatever reason. Nostalgia, perhaps, or hopes that maybe one day you can find a use for me. I lay there, gathering dust, hoping one day you’ll pick me up again. Run your fingers over my seams and remember everything that we said we would do, the joys we shared. Find the little flaws, the tears and holes in my fabric and remember how we got them. Hold me close, feel how soft my well worn self is.

You’ll return me to the hanger in the end. Or maybe folded up neatly on the shelf. Quickly, quietly, quelling our feelings. Boxed away again in the closet.

I’ve never been a fan of dark or small places.

[silvers-writing]

I’m used as a spare tire. You get a flat, you pop me on for a few days, then, when you get your shiny new tire, you toss me back into the trunk. Day in day out. I’m there to fill a void for someone, never important enough to be my own thing to anyone.

All I’ve ever wanted was to be something real to someone again.

I’ve never been one for physical touch. It gets too hot, too weird to be that close to someone else. But god what I would give for a hug from someone right now.

Well. Not just anyone. But you’ve been gone for almost three years now. You were one of the few who made me feel like an irreplaceable part. Something that, if you got rid of it, the whole car would fall apart. Someone who matters.

She can try and wear the badge of “best friend” all she wants. If that makes her happy, fine.

Only we’ll ever know the meanings of that.

[silvers-writing]

I miss who I was before all of this happened.

[silvers-writing]

I think I’ve lost a part of myself that I’ll never get back. And I don’t know what that is.

[silvers-writing]

Just how much am I allowed to love you before you cut me off again? I’ve learned what happens when I tell you how I really feel. What am I allowed to?

[silvers-writing]

If I was Eurydice, would anyone care enough to look back at me?

[silvers-writing]

I’m going crazy. I keep feeling like there’s whispers of what we had, before you pull away every single time. Those ideas that are just so close, that you are refusing to grab onto. Just one little step, please. Please. Tell me I’m not alone in seeing this. Tell me I haven’t lost my mind.

[silvers-writing]

Everyone I’ve ever been stupid enough to call a best friend has left. They’ve moved on or just stopped talking to me or died. No one has stayed. Ever.

I’ve spent the past year waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to be pushed aside again. Waiting to have those unanswered texts, the left on open Snaps, the quiet way everyone walks out of my life.

I wish I didn’t see friendship as a downgrade, but it’s always been something that never ends well with me.

I’m beginning to forget the reasons I loved you. Beginning to forget the feelings I once had. The feelings I once allowed myself to have.

I’m sorry. I hate myself for not letting go. But if I did…would you care enough to reach out again, to catch my hand if I fell?