Premature Termination Activated.

I am convinced that it should not have ended the way it did. We could have lasted through high school, through all our stupid teenage hormonal issues, through all the drama I seem to attract too much of. The fact is, I really believed that we could make everything work. Just like you told me. You always said we were meant for each other, you'd do anything for me, you never wanted to let me go. Nothing would ever happen to us because no matter what, you would make it work.

You....loved me.

As odd and unbelievable and.... absurd as that sounds, I actually believe that you loved me. At some point in time, I believe that you would have killed for me, like you said you would. You didn't want to let me go. You were prepared to make everything work out, no matter what you had to do.

And I, amazingly, would have too. Would have done anything in my power to keep us together, to make you as happy as you always made me.... Just to somehow hold on to you for a couple seconds more before you'd kiss me, say you love me, and walk away.

Oh, how I hated watching you walk away. I don't think you have any idea how much I hated it. One day, I remember, we were at the library, and I had to leave. We walked outside, you wrapped your arms around me and kissed me, said you loved me, then we turned to go our separate ways to get home. Stupidly, I looked back at you, at how your back was turned to me, at how you were staring at the ground.... A stab of pain pierced my heart, and I held my breath as I looked away.

Do you know why it hurt so much? I think it was because you had your back turned to me, and no matter how ridiculous I tried to tell myself it was, my subconscious had always imagined you walking away from me, not because we had to leave, but because you were sick of me. You finally realized that I wasn't the person you thought I was, and you wanted something different. Someone different.

But as the months and months went by, you never left. You stayed with me-- even after I told you about last year's depression, about my little experience with self-mutilation. Even after you realized that I don't quite function the way most people do. That I can't speak my mind because I'm afraid of what will happened if I do, that if I really mean something from the very deepest part of my soul, it's impossible to say out loud.

You stayed, and I stayed.

I stayed after I found out you broke into a house, after I learned how much you hate your mother, after I learned just how much a whore you used to be. After a few months, I realized that you're controlling, cocky, and arrogant. Everything had to go your way, or you'd throw a fit. [Yeah, I said it. But I don't mean a normal fit; I mean you'd just get angrier and angrier until finally you'd almost be yelling at me because you knew you were right and I knew I was right too.]

But you were also protective and hardworking, and you loved me. And I loved you. Still. After all the things we put each other through, we still loved each other. We still never wanted to let go. You still told me you'd never let anything happen to me, and I still fought down that barrier in the back of my throat just to say "I love you." Just to let you know that I still love you.

....loved you.

I still say it wasn't right the way it ended. Still, I believe we could have at least lasted through high school. Maybe we even could have carried out our plan to move out at eighteen and go live in Washington. Have one of those Happily Ever After fairy tale endings. You might have even gotten down on one knee after high school, like you said you wanted to.

But of course, things couldn't work out that way. It was too perfect, and Fate knows that life can't be perfect for anyone. That wouldn't be fair. So instead, she took you away from me, and only let half of my dream come true. You moved to Washington, but now I'm stuck here. Down in San Diego, California where palm trees litter the land, and twelve drops of rain fall every year.

Of course, I was the one left behind. It was only logical that we would be seperated, and you, who broke into a house, steals things, and all around don't obey the rules [or laws], would be the one who got the better end of the deal. While I am stuck here. Down in San Diego, California. Where the sun beats brutally down on my face every day, and there is about two pine trees per square mile of land.

You were gone. And all I knew was that there was no way I could possibly bring you back.