I visit the remnants of a friend today. Many in fact. Standing on top of a mountain:
I confess that I remember.
I remember the day you braided my hair into a fishtail braid and I showed my mother.
The day you lent me the sweater of your back after my embarrassing period incident.
The day you finally visited my home after years of my begging.
I remember when you complimented me in passing on that rooftop party.
I remember how fondly I would walk to the ends of the earth for you. How we’d make up our own.
I remember how the conversation ended after beginning years too late.
Where does it go? The love. The birthdays etched into my memory, of people whose memories were wiped clean.
I confess I called bluff to your polite request to rekindle. So we never did.
I confess I gave too much to your too little.
I made up a world out of the receipts you left behind. I remember all your favourite movies. I still listen to the songs you sent me. How do you tell someone you saved a can of fruit for them? The one you knew was their favourite? Only to eat it alone many months later in defeat. That’s just pathetic.
If you care for someone you let them know or let them go. I never did either. Now, because of you — because of all of you — my nightly dream guests; I try harder. I make an effort to point out those I love, to myself; and then hold them closer to my heart, in constant fear that they’ll leave.
I’m overthinking this. I know I am. Victim-playing is an art I excel in. My life’s calling.
I remember how I would play so many roles, none of which were enough for you, nor I.
Funny but not immature. Pretty but not airy. Sensible but approachable. Confident but humble. An acceptable hipster. A Jack of All Trades that never learnt any. A disco-ball that shows too many colours but never for long. I’ll be your fleeting companion, a diva princess, a tomboy. A sincere darling for life, a rebel, a bookworm. I’ll be everything and nothing all at once. So when you forget me, you’ll only forget your own reflection.
This is not a hopeless piece. I know now I have to decide who I am, not for anyone else. They will not stay with me but I will. So I will remain devoid of labels and outlines, and I will be my own shadow for the first time. I will be my own unrealistic emotional daydream.
