I didn’t have to perform with her, is the thing. I didn’t have to be the funniest or the craziest or the most unique. I didn’t have to wear my humor and antics as a shield, as the sum of my worth. For her, I was me. That was all and that was enough.
I craved attention and did whatever I could to get people to give it to me.
But her attention, I didn’t have to work for. I guess I had to act out to feel worthwhile in everyone else’s eyes, but who I was at my root was all she needed to give me all she had.
She was my first real solace.
I was in two existences - the life circumstances that I hated and kept me miserable, and then her and how she slowly turned my sullen around, just by being her, with me, every night.
Every night, I used to stay up until awful, lonely, late hours, wanting to postpone starting another day I’d dread. But then, she began to give me something to look forward to.
We were so different, yet we worked, and though she didn’t always understand me, she always accepted me - fully, for who I was, and that was something.
She ended up hurting me worse than any other human ever has. Ironically, it had nothing to do with the lines our interactions crossed then blurred. She just ended up being an objectively shitty friend in the end.
She was everything. But we ended up being nothing at all. Yet somehow I still got almost all that I wanted.
God, that was such melodramatic, embellished bullshit.
I’ll start over.
She’s things I can’t write yet and questions I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to answer. She was the worst thing to come at just the right time. She was exactly what I’d been waiting for, and what I don’t expect to get again.
We’ve all had our tangos with seeming perfection. Sometimes when the song ends, it bursts into flames. For me, it slowly sizzled out until embers remained that won’t ever quite burn out.
This is grade A proof that I romanticize when I really just need to realize.
(some things come, then go, and that’s okay.)