Outside my window, when I hear the melancholic pitter-patter of droplets hitting glass, I register that—

It is raining.

I don't say anything. It's far too hot and cold at the same time as I stand teetering at the edge of the bridge you have burnt down, and despite how obvious the signs can be, I still try to cross because I'm that desperate to reach you again.

As a last resort, I try to stretch out my hand. Call your name as if it's nothing but a daily occurrence and you'll be back soon. 

Of course, like all the other times I've tried, you ignore me.

;

The next time I see you, it seems that you've long since moved on from me.

Do you know what hurts? It's that we've slipped from days of smiles and laughter and calling each other names without a care in a world to whatever this is.

You've found someone else to befriend. One that doesn't have as many problems and insecurities as I do. I still remember the word annoying lingering at the tip of your tongue and catching on mine, like acrid smoke searing my flesh away.

When I glance over your shoulder at the contact you're always messaging, my heart curls a little. I have to try and walk away before I get too upset; even though I know you're able to have friends, that's not the problem here.

It's as if I never existed to you, and I hate it.

The next time I see you, it's like we're strangers.

;

It's not as if everything is completely lost—as if the last hints of wooden planks have been destroyed and there's no evidence of anything left—but sometimes, I almost wish that it's already degraded to that stage. I can't stand that smile of yours for any longer.

Because every time I see that expression on your face, directed far, far away from me, it reminds me of how little everything was worth to you. How easily years of memories can be dropped without so much as a reason to my face why.

I was a fool for thinking that it ever meant something to you.

Our relationship is hot and cold, cautious words dancing in the icy air between us and never daring to cross the line. In the light of everyone else, we're still friends, giving the occasional smile and lighthearted conversation, but there's still the underlying tension that we never talk about.

Every day, you seem to be happier. I wonder if you're the same as me, hiding tears and pleas for help under a facade because no one else will care, but your happiness seems to be genuine.

And every time you end another conversation on an abrupt note, my heart plummets a little—even though I know that you would have done so. The annoying little bud of hope in my heart has gotten crushed again and again, as if it's made of paper instead of muscle, and I hate it.

I want to hate you. I start clinging to my other friends more than I should, forcing myself to talk to them more and more just so that I can avoid you, speed-walking to the furthest seat from you and keeping my head down until someone else comes.

But I can't, no matter how hard I try.

(You do the same. You act like it's not obvious, like you can't decide whether to build this bridge again or leave it hanging in the giant abyss between us, but I know it'll be a short time before you decide that you only loved the me without my problems.)

I miss her, you know.

I miss the person who could see through me. The one who used to put up with my constant apologising and listen to hours of my messy rambles without a single complaint. I miss the one person who never shoved me away no matter what. 

It hurts knowing she never existed.

It's not surprising that I'm tired of trying. There's no point, after all, if I get the same result over and over again.

;

But—

Thank you.

Thank you for reminding me that people really can't be trusted. That I was right and no matter what you said in the past, your actions have shown me that you're wrong.

That aside, thank you for those days. The nights full of darkness, where I had nowhere left to turn, and you could pick up the broken pieces of my heart and piece them together. Where breathing was a chore and you were by my side.

Maybe someday, this will fade enough for a new friendship to bloom. 

I'll be waiting for that moment.

Or maybe we'll both get over it and leave each other alone, with stagnant hate and uncomfortableness fading; we'll simply be...there. Not caring, not talking. Maybe, when that day comes, I'll be able to pick up those pieces by myself.

But for now, thank you.

;

i'm sorry for the messy crap that this is, but i needed to vent write so yeah

this was my first time crying while writing. i hardly cry; no matter what happens, i tend to either deal with it or hold my tears back (unless it's my father bc he's an asshole sometimes), but i'm just very tired and very drained from life. i couldn't bother to hold anything back this time.