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every single night

six years ago,
you were someone i called my best friend.

i was stuck in a world of indifference and hatred
where i cried out an ocean of tears every single night
just to be hit by a wave and silenced on the shore.
so i'd pick up a stick and find a spot in the sand
to draw all the sins that had been haunting me
because maybe someone would see it,
maybe someone would care.

but the very next day, it would all be washed away.
i'd reach out for help during the most violent thunderstorms
and i'd wait for something out there to send a miracle.
but instead of finding clear skies and a rainbow,
i would be struck by bolts of lightening
and be left out on the dirt road to die.
so i tied the weight of the burdens i carried onto my feet
and drowned myself in a whirlpool of my own cries,
what i thought would cause my death,
but your touch lingered onto my skin;
it tugged me up to breathe.

we were only eleven then,
but you chased my nightmares away.

five years ago,
your feelings for me became greater
than my feelings for you.

from you, i wanted a companion
who would soothe me
during those frequent, unavoidable panic attacks
that left my heart leaping out of my chest
and my crazed eyes bloodshot red.
someone who would stay up on the phone with me
until the crack of dawn every single night
just to make sure i went to bed in peace
with no demons chasing my lifeless mind.

from me, you wanted a lover.
you argued that we had a relationship
without any of the benefits,
that i treated you like a boyfriend,
but never dared to hold your hand.
every time you tried to kiss my cheek,
i would turn my head
and place my pointer finger on your lips
to give you a light hug instead.

i was too young and too broken
to return the feelings you felt for me
and i never risked to dream the day
that i would learn how to.
i was selfish.
the same way how people open the curtains of a window
to take advantage of the sunlight
and absorb the beauty of mother nature,
but never open the window itself,
at least without a window screen.
they too are selfish;
they never share what they have inside their homes
but take everything they can from the outside world.
so while i craved and loved swimming in
the flow of attention you leniently poured out to me,
you wrote me too many love poems
in a language i did not quite understand.

we were only twelve then,
and i told you that we were far too young
for anything more than friendship.

four years ago,
i moved two hours away
and could not take you with me.

instead i promised that someday,
i would call you mine
and you would call me yours.
every single night without you
hit me straight in the chest;
i felt the promise of forever
collapsing into a prison of emptiness,
and i could do nothing to stop it.

we were only thirteen then,
but we both know how it felt
to be miserably lonely.

three years ago,
i was tired of dwelling on a love not meant to last
every single night,
so i decided to stop making contact with you.
you stopped trying too.
i began to chase after other boys,
and you,
other girls.

there is nothing more to be said.

we were only fourteen then,
and we learned the grueling hardships
of sustaining long distance.

two years ago,
we both woke up from avoiding each other
and got hit by reality.

the vows of our once fairy-tale
were wrecked and packed aside;
we had saw and heard and felt each other leave,
but these memories did not subside.
so out of the blue, you gave me a call;
you said that you had loved me since fifth grade.
"i miss you," you said.
"i miss you too,
every single night,
i've missed you," i replied.

we were only fifteen then,
but you swore on the phone that
you would come drive to visit me
as soon as you turned sixteen.

last year,
i turned sixteen.
you never could.

this year,
i will be seventeen,
but i have lost my best friend.



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