Saturday, April 17, 2004
circa early february 2004
between the ages of fourteen to eighteen, you broke it multiple times. in fact, i can chronicle my high school years based on the holes you carved in my chest. the last time i saw you act like this / we were kids.
my over dramatic side at ease, i hope you know - this is just the difference between fact and fiction.
you came here when you were fooling around with her. you came here and were a coward. so, thank you, for watching tv for nine hours every day and ignoring me. for making me cry in public at the boston beanery. for making me cry. for saying "I can't deal with you crying." for refusing to talk to me. for treating me WORSE than some random napa slut you would only use for sex, by not even kissing me. for having no patience. for criticizing my fucking lip gloss, for not liking the way i dressed because my clothes actually cover my tits and ass, for slamming me into the wall when i was drunk, for calling me a 'stupid fucking bitch' when i was drunk, for lying - in every way but the obvious, for being condescending to my friends, for being so harsh and so rough, for smacking my ass, for comparing me to holly, for telling me i looked 16 repeatedly, for complaining about everything, for saying "fuck" to my mother at dinner, for looking into my eyes in a hotel bed at 4am the day you were leaving and saying with the most false sense of sincerity - "you have chronic bad breath." thank you for taking the easy way out and being the asshole. you never could handle living up to who you could be or what you need to be. or even what you want to be.
THANK YOU for not saying THANK YOU. thank you for the apology i'll never get. Thank you very much, Thomas Adam Lynch.
i'll never forget what you said, the night before you left, when we were in the bathroom. I was looking at you, I was looking at the tiles.
"Are you going to be sad when I leave?"
and then
"Are you happy?"
falling in love feels almost exactly the same as falling out of it.
my over dramatic side at ease, i hope you know - this is just the difference between fact and fiction.
you came here when you were fooling around with her. you came here and were a coward. so, thank you, for watching tv for nine hours every day and ignoring me. for making me cry in public at the boston beanery. for making me cry. for saying "I can't deal with you crying." for refusing to talk to me. for treating me WORSE than some random napa slut you would only use for sex, by not even kissing me. for having no patience. for criticizing my fucking lip gloss, for not liking the way i dressed because my clothes actually cover my tits and ass, for slamming me into the wall when i was drunk, for calling me a 'stupid fucking bitch' when i was drunk, for lying - in every way but the obvious, for being condescending to my friends, for being so harsh and so rough, for smacking my ass, for comparing me to holly, for telling me i looked 16 repeatedly, for complaining about everything, for saying "fuck" to my mother at dinner, for looking into my eyes in a hotel bed at 4am the day you were leaving and saying with the most false sense of sincerity - "you have chronic bad breath." thank you for taking the easy way out and being the asshole. you never could handle living up to who you could be or what you need to be. or even what you want to be.
THANK YOU for not saying THANK YOU. thank you for the apology i'll never get. Thank you very much, Thomas Adam Lynch.
i'll never forget what you said, the night before you left, when we were in the bathroom. I was looking at you, I was looking at the tiles.
"Are you going to be sad when I leave?"
and then
"Are you happy?"
falling in love feels almost exactly the same as falling out of it.
