To My New Old Friends

I'm sorry.



I'm sorry I said what I meant and I'm sorry that it actually hurt you as bad as I wanted it to. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I regret saying what I said, it's just that I'm sorry. Why should I regret telling you the truth? True story: I hate you. When my head fogs, when my heart screams, when my eyes close: I hate you. I do. I'm sorry for making you cry. I'm sorry that watching you cry brings a smile to my face, but I'm lonely. When you cry I feel less alone, and I can, for a minute or two, breathe a little deeper. I'm sorry I need attention so badly that getting up every morning becomes almost as painful as being in the same room as you. I wish things were different. They're not. They never will be.



Things came between us. We let things come between us. We let a girl come between us. That was unfortunate. We let a boy come between us. That was unavoidable. We let a bottle of listerine, a newspaper clipping, and a number of overbearing parents come between us. I told you to leave them out of my life. I warned you. I Warned You. I WARNED YOU. But we never did LISTEN to eachother's silence did we? No, we always had to fill the space with secrets and lies. Secrets and lies came between us, and I refuse to say that that's all my fault.



Yet, underneath the secrets and on the surface of the lies I still call you first when I lie on my near death bed. I still have your mother listed as a contact in my phone. Remember when I surprised you with that rare showing of generosity? I still remember when we danced in the rain. I still remember when we sang along to "Larger Than Life" and "The Perfect Fan." I remember salt and vinegar chips in my backseat and I remember that the oversized sweatshirt that I wear when I'm sick is one that I stole from you. I remember windows rolled down, volume up, sunglasses on, and conscience off. I remember us. I remember what we had. We both want it back but we both know how it'll end. No matter how we try it will always end.



So, I write this for you. When apologies have been made and the floor of rock bottom is covered in Foodbarn crums and Panera scraps there is only one thing left to say. Thank you. Thank you for crying over me. Thank you for holding my hand when I couldn't see far enough in front of me to take the next step. Thanks for never talking. Thanks for talking. Thanks for high notes. I'll always miss them. Thanks for final bows and for telling me that I look good in green. You know that I can't help but live in green. Thanks for turning white when you heard about my accident. Thanks for telling me you hate me when you found out I was kidding about being terminally ill. Thanks for doing things for all the wrong reasons. Thanks for never abandoning me. Thanks for loving me even after everything changed. Thanks for finally letting me go in a town where excruciating goodbyes always seem to turn into hopeless hellos. Thank you for always remembering the brother you once had.

True story: I love you and I'll miss you.

Happy Thanksgiving.