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Apr 2016
When we first met, I didn’t think we’d be friends,
but a year later, I couldn’t imagine us being apart.

Sometimes I still wonder if you remember the day we went prom dress shopping together,
in the crisp Florida heat,
and the next night, telling me you’d gotten a new love interest,
a 500 ml purple bottle of Robitussin cough syrup.

I know I’ll still miss you when I take my prom pictures next week,
right in the color you always said made my wavy black hair look best,
or when I keep getting the Google notifications that you signed me up for,
the ones about Olaf and the Frozen cast going to Broadway.

Remember the nights we spent gossiping about the hotties of Pretty Little Liars?
Or the late night sing-a-long pizza parties,
long discussions surrounding your cute Colombian boy,
how you always swore marry in rich to a successful business man.

I don’t know what I was waiting for from you.
After you half-consciously walked out of the room, opened the window to look back in,
just to hurt me, to see the wall that had sprung up between us,
the one you’d always blamed on me, but that we both remember you building yourself.

But from what I’ll always remember,
you were the slippery eel, the leech, in the strength and weakness of my life,
who ****** on my happiness to fill your own open voids and problems,

dragged me away from m life and my friends, to fill your place yourself,
bulldoze me out of my own life, my own home and place.

So, dear eel, continue on.
Swim through and far away,
from the lake, that still yet remains in my memory.
we were told to write poems to people, and the only person left to write words to was you. it's been a year. i've moved on. i think.
Written by
Ananya Kalahasti
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