Remember My Name

I'll admit it: I'm a complete mess when it comes to dealing with my feelings. I don't know how to constructively convey my frustration without breaking out into tears; I actually don't know how to convey almost any of my emotions constructively, in my opinion. It doesn't help that I realize that now, though.



I made a mistake; I always do. It was the week of my birthday, and I just wanted to talk to you alone, so no one would ask why they were not coming to my party. You were sitting in the hallway again, in your usual spot, next to some friends.

"Why don't we go walk around for a while?" I asked. I felt uncomfortable taking initiative. When we were working through our last fight, you offered the idea that if I ever needed to talk to you, we could just walk around the school and chat alone, but I knew I would most likely never do that.



What? Me, ask you? That would somehow completely go against my cowardly persona.

But I did, I asked you. You shrugged it off though. You were tired, you wanted to sit down, and if I wanted to talk, I could sit next to you. It wasn't an unreasonable idea, but I didn't want to. I didn't want to sit there and try to talk, only to get interrupted by someone else wanting your attention. I didn't want to sit there and have to pretend that it was okay when someone did.



I didn't want; I didn't want. That's what it always has, and still does, come down to. Me, not wanting to do this, not wanting to do that.

Does that make me selfish?

Yes.

Does that make me a bitch at times?

Hell yes.

But I'm okay with that. I'm okay with playing the bitch at times now because sometimes it just happens. Everyone has their moment, and I'm not an exclusion.

I can't remember whether I gave in and sat by you or not. I imagine if I did, I probably sat there awkwardly, and if I didn't, I must likely would've shrank into the library.



Ah, the library. It was my place of sanity that year. I couldn't figure out why I kept going back there, but now I can. It used to be "our" place. Granted, it wasn't that specific library, it was our middle school one, but it was still a library.

Remember all the time we spent in there?



In seventh grade, it was like a hangout for us. Mr. Rink, he was cool, in a librarian/smart kind of way, and he dealed with us like all of our other favorite teachers we liked to mess with. There was no one ever really with us, just you and me, and it was great. And we would meet Ty, with his strange, seeming meaningful conversations (that I still wonder to this day if they were truthful or not), all of that, may have been in my subconcious when I went into that library. I wanted to go back there. Back to when I didn't have to question it as much. Where I felt no doubt that you were my best friend, and I was yours. When I felt like we had everything figured out, but yet we knew nothing as far as our eyes could look.



And that was the spark that blew up the house, everyone. A simple, yet complex, conversation in the hallway of a high school changed my future. But if I think about it too much, that isn't necessarily true. Maybe who I am today and what I've learned is what was meant to happen. Maybe I was never meant to go as far as I did with you.

Maybe this was the plan all along.