You knew I was sad as soon as I said hey.
As soon as you opened he door, you sensed it. Something was off.
You didn't say anything, you didn't prompt me.
Instead you said, "Let's just keep driving. Let's get ice cream, I'll pay.
Let's go sit in a park somewhere and just talk."
Thinking you were on to me I asked why,
You said "I'm bored and needed somewhere to go."
I let it slide.
But you knew, and you'd later admit to it.
But you didn't want to push it, you wanted me to disclose my sadness in my own time,
You wanted me to be comfortable and for that I thank you.
This seems to be our thing now,
Sitting on the swings in a park long abandoned in the darkness
Rambling on about whatever we think or feel on that particular night.
You ask what I've been up to, a code we both know means "where have I been."
You've noticed the grad parties I skipped, or ones I left too quickly;
You've noticed the lack of photo-posting and online presence.
I haven't bothered you to hang out in a while.
You don't say it but we both know what you mean.
Because that's the thing, you know me all too well.
When I say I've been at home watching reruns of The Office
You know that means I've been sleeping on the couch in the same clothes for three days.
When I say I've been tired
You know I've been asleep from 3 a.m. to 3 p.m., and barely moving for the remaining hours of each day.
And when I say I'm forgetful
You know I don't mean forgetting grad parties,
You know I mean I've forgotten to feed myself for days on end because my body's gone numb to the feeling of hunger.
You tell me things I didn't know about myself.
When I, on the verge of tears, disclose that one of my "friends" makes me feel worthless by the way he talks -
And that even though I want so badly to be the girl who can take a joke that I too sometimes feel small -
You say you already knew.
That you knew because of the way I laughed.
How after he said these things that hurt me
My laugh wasn't loud and raucous like it is when I'm happy,
But soft, and airy, broken almost.
And how when I do this damaged laugh I lightly bat at the person's arm,
As if it's my way of slapping them without injuring them
Or trying to make them feel a little piece of the hurt I felt.
You say it's been like this as long as you've known me.
I ask you why you know this laugh so well, and you say,
"Because. That's when I know I've messed up.
That's when I need to apologize."
And you always do
But you've never messed up.
You ask if you've ever made me feel the way that he did,
If you've ever unknowingly pushed me to the edge of tear fall,
And you seem wounded at the thought.
As if making me feel the way he does would break your heart.
I assure you it's not true and you frantically plead that I'll tell you if you ever do
So we can talk about it and you can understand and be sure it doesn't happen again.
Not my sad laugh that you know more than I,
And not my boisterous joyful one either.
Just a light giggle to myself, because the very thought of you hurting me is so amusing.
It won't happen. Your soul is too good.
You're the most caring and thoughtful person I've known and yet you're concerned you might hurt me, as if it's even in your power.
You're not like that, you just don't know it.
Maybe you know me better than you.
You worry so often about being a bad friend,
But here's the one thing you don't know about me:
You're the only good one I've got.
Thanks for everything, you. Don't be a stranger.