I have grey eyes to her green,
an oval face to her heart-shaped one,
I’m shorter, scrawnier, paler, flatter, plainer, tamer.
All we shared is a madhouse of curls
that I imprison in a ponytail
while she let hers rave
around her head.
I don’t sing in my sleep
or eat the petals off flowers
or run into the rain instead of out of it.
I’m the unplugged-in one,
the side-kick sister,
tucked into a corner of her shadow.
Boys followed her everywhere;
they filled the booths at the restaurant where she waitressed,
herded around her at the river.
One day, I saw a boy come up behind her
and pull a strand of her long hair
I understood this-
I felt the same way.
In photographs of us together,
she is always looking at the camera,
and I am always looking at her.
I’ve never been one to ignore my problems. I used to force my entire world onto people who didn’t have the slightest clue how to handle it.
Now I’m trying to get as far away from everything as possible. I don’t want to make any decisions because I know that whatever I decide is final.
Through all the dramatics and hysterics that my life was built upon, this isn’t one of them. I’m just wondering what a closed door feels like.
I just know that I can’t go back.
I. Cannot. Wait. Until. I. Go. To. NY. In. October. Oh. My. Hell.
with your best friend Kyle.