my father always keeps a hammock in the back of his car,
as if one day we will camp out under a million stars.
that's the kind of spontaneity i long for.
the closest i have gotten was confronting you this week,
and my only result was burned bridges.
i have never camped out under the stars, never gotten drunk, never kissed a stranger.
but i told you i was mad at you and i told you i did not care if you were mad at me too,
and now it is one am and i cannot breath and i feel like i am going to throw up because i cannot stop thinking about last year at this time.
i can't think of one thing that was the same.  i'm not even sure i'm still the same person.

some things sound so weird in past tense.

I hate you loving you.
I can handle that.
I hate you, and your friends, and every word that comes out of your mouth.
I hate your hair and your hands and your laugh and your voice and your jokes.
That's fine.  I know these things, I'm okay with them, really.

I hate myself.
I hate the time I put into you, and I hate that you hugged me last tonight.
I don't know how to handle my racing heart and sweaty palms.
I don't know how to hide my tears from my parents when I lie to them and tell them you were super happy to see me.
I was a predator and I've turned into a parasite and I don't know what I'm supposed to tell my diary because I promised it you still cared about me somewhere deep inside, and I'm tired of breaking promises.

you make me feel dizzy, and not in a good, just off a roller coaster kind of way.
being with you feels like standing on the edge of a rooftop and begging myself to jump, like placing my already shaking finger on the trigger of a gun during an earthquake.
i never liked the high dive because i didn't like the pain when i hit the water, but you feel so much worse because i can't shake you off by swimming around a little.
i feel like i am at the bottom of the deep end, fifteen feet down and i can't get back up, the pressure is killing me and my goggles are pressing into my cheeks and i am no longer able to cry.
i haven't been in a pool in almost three years and i don't know if it's your fault or if it's just a coincidence that that's how long i've known you.

somewhere between asleep and in love,
i am sad but not too sad.
tonight it finally feels like the right amount.
he does not love me, but it's okay.
he does not know what love is,
and neither do i,
not really.
i may as well give up now,
but i don't mind anymore.
it has been raining for days,
and everybody gets wet.
i am not the only one who thinks about dying.

two years ago on april fools day we told everyone we were dating and they all believed us,
because that year you let me wear your scarves and we walked down the halls together and i went to see all your shows,
and everyone secretly wanted us to date anyway.

this year i did not talk to you at all on april fools day, and i didn't even see you.
i looked nice but you did not tell me and i was cold but you were not there,
but it's okay, because i'm over you.

april fools.

i don't think i've ever hit a lower bottom, and i don't think i've ever seemed happier on the outside.
i talked about dying twelve times today and i was only joking once.
i have gotten better at small talk and at burying myself in the screen of my phone but i have not gotten better at dealing with everything i keep inside.
i could fly across the world tonight and i don't think i would miss a single person,
but i am not leaving. they are.  and somehow it seems a lot less intriguing when i am the one stuck alone in this dumb little town.
i feel weird about it too.  guilty, even.
i have friends but i do not want to be their friend.  i want to be friends with flowers and paintbrushes, not with people who sing songs for little kids and yell about tv shows.
that is not me anymore.  to yell i would have to have passion, to care about something.
i don't.
i know that i am not a robot, because i honestly used to care.  but when people stopped caring about me i stopped caring about them, and now it wouldn't even matter if i was made of metal because nobody would notice.
my best friends all have new best friends.  on days when sitting at their lunch table doesn't give me a headache they ignore me anyway.
i am sailing by on a boat made of false smiles and fake texts, but i am sinking.
or maybe i have sunk, and everyone is looking at me through goggles and the water is distorting my laugh.  maybe that's why it sounds funny to me now.
maybe i sound funny to everyone else too.

missing you used to be an open wound.
every time i saw you, heard you, thought of you, it hurt.
i did everything i could to go back in time, and i tried to get your attention like you were the last band-aid in the box.
and now i am healing, scabbing, slowly.
it's itchy and uncomfortable and i avoided your eye contact in the halls five times today alone.
i have to work on not picking at my scab.
every time i think of you my fingers ache for the familiar movement, but i must not.
sometimes it still hurts, because you are still around and my skin has not grown back all the way.
i still bleed.
but scabs do not last forever, and i am healing,
even if you leave a scar.