To My Imaginary Friend
When small, I could see the ghosts, a sure sign that I believed in you.
Were it not for the aliens, fictional insects and mythical creatures you showed me perhaps my mind wouldn’t be quite as warped, although you can undoubtedly make that claim more deservedly than anyone else.
I know you were real. I saw you.
And it’s only now I realise you’re different. Unrecognisable - even to me;
The closest thing to equal you ever found, the most adoring friend, as near to a sister one can be.
You falsities smother your worth and in my sorrow I must announce the removal of you from my life.
You are, to me, a faint collection of memories, a childish sentimental keepsake leaving me clinging to what brings me no joy. I once might have said I expected better from you, but that was long ago, and you do enjoy surprising the only ones left who like you. Time after time you hurt me, and in your narrow-minded selective sight you assumed all was forgiven.
Correct me if I’m wrong (or sob hysterically in a corner muttering suicide threats as is your custom in such situations) but I think there is an element of truth in the belief that everything you ever loved was stolen from me. Call me heart-less, sick, jealous - childish name-calling is adorably fitting, especially coming from such an over-rated pretty little girl. Write back and belittle me completely. Let this be my one last vain attempt to cut you down, like the grown-ups cut down our witch tree. Let me not spoil your romance and your intense new meaning. Instead, taste the bitter reciprocal medicine (and don’t let me stop you from over-dosing) because I know you’ll enjoy this. You love nothing more than to play the victim in all your drama and self-inflicted misery.
After all these years, I admit we were great friends (and I cope marvelously well with betrayal) but allow me to close the book. I’m not as linguistic as you with your infinite knowledge of long meaningless words, so you can rewrite the story as you wish, making sure to write my character out of it. I’ve read our tale too many times, and the ending always gets me. So, I think I’ll like you more as an imaginary friend and you can replace the ghosts I can no longer see.
Were it not for the aliens, fictional insects and mythical creatures you showed me perhaps my mind wouldn’t be quite as warped, although you can undoubtedly make that claim more deservedly than anyone else.
I know you were real. I saw you.
And it’s only now I realise you’re different. Unrecognisable - even to me;
The closest thing to equal you ever found, the most adoring friend, as near to a sister one can be.
You falsities smother your worth and in my sorrow I must announce the removal of you from my life.
You are, to me, a faint collection of memories, a childish sentimental keepsake leaving me clinging to what brings me no joy. I once might have said I expected better from you, but that was long ago, and you do enjoy surprising the only ones left who like you. Time after time you hurt me, and in your narrow-minded selective sight you assumed all was forgiven.
Correct me if I’m wrong (or sob hysterically in a corner muttering suicide threats as is your custom in such situations) but I think there is an element of truth in the belief that everything you ever loved was stolen from me. Call me heart-less, sick, jealous - childish name-calling is adorably fitting, especially coming from such an over-rated pretty little girl. Write back and belittle me completely. Let this be my one last vain attempt to cut you down, like the grown-ups cut down our witch tree. Let me not spoil your romance and your intense new meaning. Instead, taste the bitter reciprocal medicine (and don’t let me stop you from over-dosing) because I know you’ll enjoy this. You love nothing more than to play the victim in all your drama and self-inflicted misery.
After all these years, I admit we were great friends (and I cope marvelously well with betrayal) but allow me to close the book. I’m not as linguistic as you with your infinite knowledge of long meaningless words, so you can rewrite the story as you wish, making sure to write my character out of it. I’ve read our tale too many times, and the ending always gets me. So, I think I’ll like you more as an imaginary friend and you can replace the ghosts I can no longer see.