You tell me you're leaving,
Illinois, or something like that.
You say we'll stay in touch (obviously)
but I guess I know it's the end.
Yeah, when you come back for the holidays,
we'll catch a movie,
maybe text once a week.
But a voice in me says that
now is the time,
the time to tell you whatever I have left to say.
I know though,
that I'll never tell you.

I'll never tell you,
that your "jokes"
really hurt sometimes.
And yeah, I know
that I spit back insults,
and we told people that's just
how our relationship worked
and it was always just games for you.
But sometimes it still hurt
when you made me feel like
a failure.
I guess you'll never know that.

I'll never tell you,
that I hate how I always cared more,
how our fights bounced off you
but stuck with me.
How I hated in elementary school
when suddenly I wasn't your only "best friend"
and as we got older,
you started to seem so darn passive aggressive about it
and every once in a while,
I felt like you meant so much more to me
than I ever did to you.
You'll never know that.

I'll never tell you
how much it bugged me when
you cried because I punched you.
I only did that because
I had nothing else to use against you
and that I knew it didn't hurt
as much as the things you used to say to me,
and that I cried too,
you just didn't see it.
You'll never know that.

So I shut that voice in me up
because we've been best friends since pre-k,
because we did school projects together,
and never missed each other's birthdays.
Because we'd smiled and laughed so much,
because when we used to tell people
we were twins they believed us,
because we were plenty dysfunctional,
but that was fine to you,
and I didn't want to mess up 'us'
right before you left.
So all I said was goodbye.