what is our relationship?
are we best friends? friends?
we hang out on weekends sometimes, are constantly around each other during the school day, and have similar experiences and feelings about important things.
and yet, i still don't really know you.
the story of your life still remains a shrouded cloud of mystery that has yet to clear.
we are both "understand"ers
I understand a lot about you. Feel the things you feel and let unspoken things be said through a look. You understand a lot about me. You tell me things that I need to hear and offer me comfort unlike any friend because you recognize a lost but searching soul.
I remember when we first started really talking.
I don't know if I made this up, but I swear to God... every time we would talk, your eyes would light up and I would smile, because we both knew each other without really knowing
That glimmer would literally cause me to smile so big, and cause something inside me to grow a little bit each time it happened. It was a rare thing and I cherished it.
We both thought the other was exciting and it was like we shared a thousand unknown secrets just waiting to be told.
I still see that spark sometimes. It's not there in the way it used to be, but it's there. If I tell you something brave I did the previous weekend, or you talk about music or something you love, I see it come back. But when we talk about C, M, or H, the flame is dull. I hate that; I wish it didn't have to be put out like that.
So what is this?
Sometimes I feel like whatever spark you thought you saw in me, isn't as exciting or secretive as you thought.
I hope that isn't true, because just as I don't truly know your life story, you don't know mine.
I didn't know you freshman year, or most of sophomore. Junior year, who can even say what happened. But I hope that during this summer, even if I'm not in your life as much, that flame will grow. I really hope it does, because the small glimpse of it that I was lucky enough to witness was one of the greatest, purest, most extraordinary things I have ever seen.
I didn't want to tell you about my depression, or the years I went to therapy..."counseling".
Or when I thought I had anorexia and later tried to make myself a bulimic.
When you told me on the bridge that you had tried to make yourself throw up, I understood. So much. But I couldn't say that and make it about me.
I didn't want you to worry that I would become like her . And I know that's awful to say, but when you talk about her, and I hear the pain in your voice, and didn't want to be another cause of that.
Now I feel like I should tell you because unlike a few months or weeks ago, I'm okay with myself. I wasn't then, but I am now.
So there's a little more about me, but this isn't what this is about.
This is a long *** who-knows-what-whatever about I don't even know.
U Rock