where i end and you begin
we could never have been friends. we weren't supposed to be friends, first of all. nothing happens how it should and i don't know a lot, but i know that for sure. we would have been better of as lovers if i knew what that meant. we fought like lovers, we lied like lovers, we bled into each other like lovers, we killed each other and tore our one body to sheds like lovers. but i don't know if that counts. it's easier to say it didn't, makes this feeling so so much more unreasonable. i'd rather be hysterical than have to deal with the truth: something happened and it's over. i will never kiss your cheek or your forehead or your hand or, well, your mouth, ever again. and it's so much easier to just omit that last one, pretend it didn't happen however many times it actually did. the mirror can whisper that im delusional and nothing ever happened and nothing is over; just two strangers. no history no past no love no deep sense of betrayal no missing clothes no books i'll never read no unsent gifts laying on my desk no last times no first times no desperate calls no watchlists no flight listings no petty theft no lost no love. this is an imaginary scenario where you don't care about me and no one notices the way we look at each other (and trust me, the amount of questions i've had to field about us warrant this. let me have this secret in our imaginations) and no one asks me about you--im not the authority on you, im not the other half, we arent inseparable and you wouldn't prefer to be alone than being with someone other than me--and we don't exist in a space of our own but the real world. we aren't in suspended animation, frozen in love and a million miles away from the tragedy of oxygen. this is just a fantasy though. when i wake up, there will be a gap where you aren't. when i wake up, your ghost will haunt my house/my car/the seat next to me everywhere/my thoughts/your old house. the fantasy will dissolve and it will be real. i will face the cut out you've made in my life and i will wonder how i ever could have lived, if the absence of you was so distracting, could i begin to remember how it felt to be in your company, and not just the lack thereof