some people that i used to know.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Friends slip through my hands like a wet bar of soap. Sometimes it's my fault. Sometimes it's not. Either way, friends come and go like boats at a dock.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

I'm sixteen, and graduating. I wasn't supposed to be so alone. I wasn't supposed to be walking down the hall in my leavers jacket, saying hi to a bunch of faces who ignore me. I wasn't supposed to be fighting back tears and forcing myself to pluck up the courage to talk to people who have 'go away' written all over them.

Pour mon ami, mon rochester et ma mère:

I know and you know that you won't choose me over them. I'm not a fool. Society means more to anyone than I ever could. What do I have to offer? Obscurity. Loneliness. Ostracization. Nobody would want to be alone as I am. I don't want to be alone as I am. But here we are. You have a choice, and you're taking it. I don't.   

You said that you'd always be there for me. In my world, stuff like that means something. But you were the first person to run for the hills, and I was the one who had to cut the cord. I didn't believe you for a heartbeat, not really; but for a very, very brief moment I would have been content to lay aside what I wanted for so long for a humble friendship. For once I really need someone, anyone. I miss my Tom Riddle's diary, even all the empty promises and the meaningless flirting and insincere flattery. But you're here but not here.

I honestly don't know why you have stuck with me for these last sixteen years. I used to run out the front door and race to school to escape the house, but now I find myself wishing I was back at home, eating your food, forgetting who I am in your embrace. You're never there when I need you the most; you're never with me to fight in the battlefield that school has become. The other girls who call their mothers a bitch don't realize what it is to have no friend like your mother, no friend but your mother.

Why am I so out of place? Why do I constantly have to censor and edit myself? Why is it, despite these revisions, retakes, and an endless, endless forgiveness, am I still left in the dark? I cut off and hide away so much of myself, and yet still...still I cannot even pretend to be normal. But I'm tired of pretending to be someone to make friends, to find love. You do not see one tenth of the darkness, the passion, the hate that is locked away, for now. I don't have the courage to let that fly, not yet, anyway - not now that I have been crushed.

I was born who I am. I don't think I deserve this, for that.