Let me tell you about the girl. She was sick and she couldn’t walk through doors unless she walked through them five times more. She couldn’t smile, unless she wiggled her eyebrows, and her mind was dizzy with mental pain. she couldn’t think or talk or even breathe unless her thoughts were repeating, poking, prodding, climbing, sliming, cutting her to pieces, rebelling against her. She punished herself and thought she was destroying herself, except she already had. It cracked her up, she beleived there was no one like her except she was wrong. It broke up her heart into pieces, like glass, and a hole, and anyone who got too close would cut themselves and bleed, or burn, they’d burn to ashes. She was bullied in her new school, they talked about her behind her back, about how smelly, stinky, messy, quiet, weird she was and avoid her like the plague, except she’d gone too far to care, so it fell flat anyway, anyway they couldn’t touch her anymore. She ran away and was free, but then she came back in a full circle to where she’d originally been, and her heart was jagged and ragged and full of sharp edges and dark things and she walked a dark path that no one else would know.
Let me tell you about the boy. He thought he was the bad boy, and that she was the good girl, but he was wrong. Maybe he was attracted to the glass pieces, the piles of blood lying around in pools, steam rising in empty swirls, or the empty hole in her heart that sucks thoughts in and throws them out all mangled and torn, maybe it was the darkness, the dark path that she only walked on or maybe it was just her eyes, cuz that’s all he could see.
Flashing, thrown back as she laughed and spoke her tortured words, could he see it all, or was it just her eyes?
He had black hair, curly,tangled, dangling; he had a five o’clock shadow, at times, and a sorrow and a depth that seemed to make it real.
He’d look at her, breathless, even when there were other girls around, he’d be looking at her, following her with his eyes, laughing at what she said. Listening as she talked with her girlfriends, breathing, breathless.
He walked past her and past her again, trying to muster the courage to speak, but he never did. One eyebrow raised in the computer lab, or the question and a bit of hope in his face. Maybe he cut, maybe he burned, because it would never work out.
She was sick and he had another girl.
And so she was left wondering what if, 4 and a half years later..
What if we’d been like water, what if we’d been like smoke, what if we’d been friends, what if we’d been friends, maybe we’d be lighter, maybe we’d be dust. What if we’d been lighter, what if we’d been flames, what if we’d fought harder, would we still be the same?