Thursday, April 26, 2001

maybe its a good thing that i cant remember your face without the photographs..maybe its good that i cant really think of how you sounded or smelled...maybe its ideal that i've started to forgot the way you said i love you, your voice thick with disgust, or the look of hatred in your eyes when you kissed me...i wonder if you would still think i was fat and annoying..maybe its better that i'm not the person i was then.. but i still read your letters and i feel every ounce of scorn you poured into them...i wish i could read them and see you as you really were, some sad scared depressed kid, but all i see when i read those words is me, how i was then, back when i still smiled..back when i would have done anything to make you happy and i tried so hard to convince myself that you really did love me, underneath the cruel jokes, the bruises, the hatred. . that i really was your "best freind" like you said...that i was worthy of all i thought you were....cruel words bred the hate that i internalized, and i'll always feel those bruises..
i'm fucking drowning by myself. nobodys noticing, no matter how loud i scream. and every laugh from around me is just like your voice - it stabs right through my throat.