Left

Reading about you

is like a punch in the face.

A slamming sensation of pain; I am left winded, stinging.

At first the story is happy, but oh how naive I was.

I can almost see my twelve year old hands scrawling in that dusty old journal.
All is well, they say.

But come thirteen the truth came out and my world exploded.

You shoved me away, shunned me, it was like 'we' had never existed.

I tried to keep us together. Really, I did. But you had no more need for our friend-ship and I was tossed away like an old plastic bag.  

"I hate you!" I scream into the howling wind. "Damn you and all you've ever stood for, I HATE you!".

The night is cold and the breeze is sharp but I care not. Inside, I am crying like a child, tears cascading down my cheeks. But outside, as I stand in the dark on that lonely hill, I am wearing my poker face.

Fat kids don't cry, do they now, Friend?

But for every time I say I hate you, for every second I see red as you cross my mind,
underneath all the rage is a small, sad voice.

A voice,
that quietly mutters:  
"I miss you...."