Categories > Original > Drama
I wish I could have known then. I can't remember how to forget. You twisted, spiteful boy. You were always like that, even at 17 when you swore you'd never leave my side. There was magic in those eyes, but now they've gone dark. You wrote bloody poetry and I only wish I could make my pen bleed. In you, I see everything I wish I could be, and everything my atoms cry out to leave alone. I wish, at least, your memory was humble so I could burn as bright, but I've all but lost myself in your shadow.
I remember our first kiss. It was the day I found you bleeding all over my bathroom floor. Angry gashes on your arms wept crimson and I thought about how the linoleum wouldn't even stain. The heartache in your eyes contrasted beautifully with your wounded skin. I never thought you were more beautiful than you were then. I felt sorry for you for the first and only time in our friendship. So, I gave you my first kiss and hoped it would be enough to save you. You made me swear I would never tell and I didn't. I never figured out which secret you wanted me to keep. You stained yourself with insecurity and suffering so you could be a real artist. Because real artists suffer, don't you know? The memory of my first kiss will always be just the intro to your grand finale.
That was also the day you died. I'm the one who found you the next day, smashed against that tree laying on top of the hood of your car. Your brilliant mind lay scattered all over everything, but I held you all the same. I called for help and it only took 5 minutes for that tragic circus to begin. People in uniforms came and they took you away in a black bag. I managed to steal another kiss before they arrived. I hoped that my second kiss would bring you back to me.
And now you won't leave me alone. I'm nearly a decade older and I still close my eyes and feel my lips pressed hot to yours. I was trying to kiss life, and poetry, and everything you'd cast away back into you. I failed and I hate you for it. No one who knew us will ever let me forget that you were better. You fixed it for good that day. You're a six-foot-under diva, still not letting me step out of your shadow. And sometimes, I think that's exactly what you had in mind.
I remember our first kiss. It was the day I found you bleeding all over my bathroom floor. Angry gashes on your arms wept crimson and I thought about how the linoleum wouldn't even stain. The heartache in your eyes contrasted beautifully with your wounded skin. I never thought you were more beautiful than you were then. I felt sorry for you for the first and only time in our friendship. So, I gave you my first kiss and hoped it would be enough to save you. You made me swear I would never tell and I didn't. I never figured out which secret you wanted me to keep. You stained yourself with insecurity and suffering so you could be a real artist. Because real artists suffer, don't you know? The memory of my first kiss will always be just the intro to your grand finale.
That was also the day you died. I'm the one who found you the next day, smashed against that tree laying on top of the hood of your car. Your brilliant mind lay scattered all over everything, but I held you all the same. I called for help and it only took 5 minutes for that tragic circus to begin. People in uniforms came and they took you away in a black bag. I managed to steal another kiss before they arrived. I hoped that my second kiss would bring you back to me.
And now you won't leave me alone. I'm nearly a decade older and I still close my eyes and feel my lips pressed hot to yours. I was trying to kiss life, and poetry, and everything you'd cast away back into you. I failed and I hate you for it. No one who knew us will ever let me forget that you were better. You fixed it for good that day. You're a six-foot-under diva, still not letting me step out of your shadow. And sometimes, I think that's exactly what you had in mind.
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