I remember writing a poem about this mess in the summer of nineteen ninety
eight. I thought I was just crazy like the rest, but you know what? I was
more wrong than I've ever been before. Those words: "maybe that's all I
have to do, just look you in the eyes and tell you what I have been
through" just keep repeating over and over. My words. My last line.
I wanted to tell you this from day one. Remember when you sat there crazy?
Rambling on in a thrown voice about the silliest of things.. there I was: a
little girl who hadn't been through much, a little girl who held on too
much, a little girl waiting for an open door. I got my open door, and it
was yours. You let me in, despite the fact that at one point in time we
were silent enemies.
I knew him. I knew him like you did, on a different level. He told me
things, I told him things. And he left before I had the chance to say what
I attempted to say all along. I was so close, but he ran and I never fully
recovered. It's like in that book: "don't ever tell anybody anything, if
you do you start missing everybody." That's my situation. I'm really
sorry that I brought you in and our whole friendship has thrived on a sad
obsession. An obsession with holding on. I hold on to everyone and that's
how I get hurt.
Simplicity is supposed to be a "good" thing, but right now being simple
might just be the thing that kills you. To simply put it, the only reason
I called that night is because I wanted to know what happened to HIM. I
didn't want to let him go like I had let so many others before, I was tired
of letting go. I still haven't let go.
Last night you called him and he told you things. You know: screwed up
plans, hopes, and dreams. I thought to myself.. why do I care? Why do I
care if he ever comes back for you, why do I care if he becomes a failure,
why do I care if I never see his face again? I'm not sure. He's just
another acquaintance, another character in my story, a character gone too far.
I know this doesn't affect you in the least bit, but I can't let it go.
I'm so terribly sorry for talking to HER about everything in the past. I'm
sorry for finding out the things I did. I guess you didn't realize, but
I've grown up my whole life perfecting my "digging" skills. I can find out
anything, about anyone, if I have some sort of link to them. I know things
about people that they'd never imagine me to know. It's an amazing
feeling, really, but very lonely and empty in the long run. I'm sorry for
digging, but you should be sorry for asking. Maybe I should of warned you?
Sometimes it pays off to not really be in a specific sort of group,
sometimes it pays off for everyone to assume who you REALLY are? Could be.
It's paying off lately.
I'm not going to go drastic. Saying that I love him would be absurd. Lets
just say that I'm intrigued, I'm infatuated, I'm fascinated with him. He
fills in the void for a person that I had always wanted to meet, a person
who at one point, I was obsessed with, a person that I looked up to, a
person that I myself, wanted to be.
Forever in debt,
Leanne
