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Changes

By , Port St. Lucie, FL
She changed.

I had known her my entire life, and yet, no matter how hard I looked, no matter how my eyes strained from the effort, I couldn’t recognize her. I was like that one observer looking at that one piece of art they couldn’t understand, so what would they do? Tilt their head to the slightest angle and try to look like they knew exactly what was in front of them, even though what really went through their heads was the ‘to do’ list that had to be done by noon that day – “Have to go to the dry cleaner’s first, they close early today…”

That’s me.

The confused observer, who now, looking at that girl who is so different from before, doesn’t know what to do. My head tilts farther and farther, noticing how the words come out of her mouth in a different style, the smile on her lips not as bright and not nearly as wide, the silk movements that make up her new found repertoire, and finally how her personality has turned into one you could probably buy off ebay.

And it’s not just her either, it’s her look too. She walked into school that day and her hair was a warm red and eyes the most beautiful shade of blue. What contacts and a good dye job can do for you, huh?

…Alright, alright so that’s not entirely true, you caught me in a lie, slap me on the wrist if you want, but it still doesn’t change the fact that she might as well have. And the worst part of this story thus far is – I did nothing to stop it.

But I could have.

I sat there for months, months and months that dragged by in painful crawls. I just stared at her the entire time, unable to keep my eyes away, fascinated by the change I saw in front of me, but not caring enough to stand up and put my foot down. I sat silently in the corner of her life, and one by one I was joined in that lonely space by her friends, oh, excuse me – her former friends. She’s moved on I guess, but the old models will tell me, they sit there, shaking their heads and muttering about how she’s changed. But if you listen hard enough, you’ll hear her say the exact same thing about them.

She walks by me and it’s more like a glide. I’ve never once seen her touch the floor, as if trying to say she’s better than the rest. I want it to be how it used to be, grounded, down to Earth. And sure, there was that terribly annoying sound of her feet shuffling through the day, but it’s far better than floating, right?

See, that my friend is the eternal, one million dollar question. Maybe this is all for the good, maybe she’s happier this way and I just refuse to see it. I don’t know, I’m not her and I never will be.

But, what I do know is that when she throws her head back to let out one of her high pitched giggles, it doesn’t sound nearly as pleasant as it used to. A little strained, kind of forced. But what can I do? It’s her agenda, not mine.

And after waiting so long, waiting, as if she might come back herself without intervention, she’s been left in an irreversible state. Now all I can do is watch, as her new life keeps persisting that everything is okay when it isn’t.

Who knew so much could happen over two teeny tiny months.

Who knew so much could happen to me.





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