Each Time, I Think I'm Never Going

It Wasn't Like I Was Some Expert On The Meaning Of Being Supportive. Was It Being Loyal Even Against Your Better Judgement? Or, Like Olivia, Was It Making Your Displeasure Known From The Start, Even When Someone Didn't Want To Hear It?

Quiet And Incredible. I Really Envy That.

I'm Sorry," I Heard Him Say Again. Then, Out Of The Corner Of My Eye, I Saw A Sudden Blur Of Movement As He Slid Out Of His Seat, Left Some Bills For The Breakfast He Wouldn't Eat, And Walked Away. And As He Did, I Thought Again Of Those Mornings In The Hallway At School, Way Back In Ninth Grade. Everything Had Started In Such Sharp Detail, Each Aspect Pronounced And Clear. Obviously, Endings Were Different. Harder To See, Full Of Shapes That Could Be One Thing Or Another, With All The Things That You Were Once So Sure Of Suddenly Not Familiar, If They Were Even Recognizable At All.

I Knew I Had To Keep Him To Myself, As I'd Slowly Begun To Keep Everything. We Had Secrets Now, Truths And Half-truths, That Kept Her Always At Arm's Length, Behind A Closed Door, Miles Away.

I Was Actually Pretty Miserable In High School. I Couldn't Wait For It To Be Over. And When It Finally Was, I Remember Sitting At Graduation With All These Classmates Getting Nostalgic And Emotional Already And All I Could Think Was, "get Me Out Of Here. I Never Want To See You People Again." So It's Ironic That I Spend Half My Day Putting Myself Back There By Choice [while Writing].