(no subject)
He's not the boy I used to know. He's a stranger.
He's not the boy that came up to me at the end of sixth period, face flushed red, fumbling over his own words, and asked me to the dance. He's not the boy that loved me. He's not the boy I couldn't love the way he deserved. He's not my big regret. He's not the one I confessed everything to. He's not the first boy I ever cried in front of. He's not the one who wanted more than anything for me to find someone and be happy.
He's not my best friend's boyfriend. He's not even my best boy friend.
He's not the person who came to visit me at work on Christmas eve, and made me cry because his card was so beautiful and thoughtful. He's not the boy I went camping with. The one I stood on the pier and laughed myself sore with. He's not the one Poole and I threw a suprise birthday party for at the cabin. He's not the one I sat on the beach watching the sun sink with. He's not the same person I snuck onto the playground with at 10 p.m. to play on the little kid toys. Now, if I were to look at him and say "Ramburgers!", he'd probably look at me like I was insane... the boy I knew would have laughed and said "Rank Rou". He isn't the boy that loves to play Uno and Egyptian Ratscrew. I don't go over to his house to watch the fireworks. There are a thousand other stupid things I remember that I could list. And he's not any of them anymore.
What do you do when he's not the same boy you left behind?
You realize now that, selfishly, in your heart, you always thought he'd be the same kid, waiting for you when you got back. Yet somewhere in the six months that you lost thouch... that boy vanished.
I couldn't stop smiling when I heard from him today... yet the further I read, the more my smile faded. My friend is gone. Brainwashed into something else. The boy I fell in and out of love with is dead to me now.
Ironically, without realizing it, he himself said it best with the last line of his email:
"We defintiely need to stay in contact. Now we can't always just catch up in the kitchen, because I'm not there."
He's not the boy that came up to me at the end of sixth period, face flushed red, fumbling over his own words, and asked me to the dance. He's not the boy that loved me. He's not the boy I couldn't love the way he deserved. He's not my big regret. He's not the one I confessed everything to. He's not the first boy I ever cried in front of. He's not the one who wanted more than anything for me to find someone and be happy.
He's not my best friend's boyfriend. He's not even my best boy friend.
He's not the person who came to visit me at work on Christmas eve, and made me cry because his card was so beautiful and thoughtful. He's not the boy I went camping with. The one I stood on the pier and laughed myself sore with. He's not the one Poole and I threw a suprise birthday party for at the cabin. He's not the one I sat on the beach watching the sun sink with. He's not the same person I snuck onto the playground with at 10 p.m. to play on the little kid toys. Now, if I were to look at him and say "Ramburgers!", he'd probably look at me like I was insane... the boy I knew would have laughed and said "Rank Rou". He isn't the boy that loves to play Uno and Egyptian Ratscrew. I don't go over to his house to watch the fireworks. There are a thousand other stupid things I remember that I could list. And he's not any of them anymore.
What do you do when he's not the same boy you left behind?
You realize now that, selfishly, in your heart, you always thought he'd be the same kid, waiting for you when you got back. Yet somewhere in the six months that you lost thouch... that boy vanished.
I couldn't stop smiling when I heard from him today... yet the further I read, the more my smile faded. My friend is gone. Brainwashed into something else. The boy I fell in and out of love with is dead to me now.
Ironically, without realizing it, he himself said it best with the last line of his email:
"We defintiely need to stay in contact. Now we can't always just catch up in the kitchen, because I'm not there."