Nemophilist

You used to tell me things, little whispers when you had too much to drink. I don’t remember when sweet words turned into venom but there we were. Lips pressed tight, rolling waves of teen angst and a little something else. I remember the words you told me after you downed some mystery drink a shady looking boy gave you and then threw up down the side of another kids truck.

“You know Jun, I’m tired of doing this.” I didn’t know what you were tired of. Partying, being there, or simply just being? You were confusing at good moments, and downright unintelligible at the bad moments, but I still loved you anyway.