I'll admit, I'm tired of this poetry bull.
Let me get to the point here.
I do not want to write this.
Here in rehab or whatever the fuck they call it, they force you to write some story about your life to help 'express yourself.' I know. Some boring-ass shit, right?
Exactly 2 years ago, I would have never said anything like that.
What went wrong?
That's what they always ask me.
And I'll tell you what went wrong.
It all started when Matt died. He had been my best friend since, like, forever. It's cheesy. I know, but stay with me here.
Me and Matt had met in early grade school when we each had to talk about out families.
I talked about how my Dad was abusive, my Mom was an alcoholic and druggie but still expected the absolute best of me, and how my only other living relative was on the run from the cops.
Matt talked about his dead dad, who committed suicide, his second dad (his mom left when she found out her husband had been cheating on her with another man-who one day became his second dad) who was bipolar , and his older brother who liked to 'play games' with him.
We were bound to be friends.
We told each other about the bad things that happened to us, cried on one another's shoulder, the whole deal.
I wonder when we fell in love. One day it just kind of...happened.
It was after school one day. I was in a pleated skirt and a button up. I had been sitting under the big cottonwood tree in a nearby cemetery when Matt just showed up on his bike, hair tousled from the wind. We didn't say anything when we got to each other. We just kissed. It was like magic, I felt so perfect in his arms.
I wasn't enough for him though.
It had been a whole year of us being the happiest couple ever, when one day I got a call from Matts dad.
"He left a note for you."
That's all he said before he hung up.
I got it, but I could never open it. Just his curly writing on the front made me cry. Even now, it's just sitting in my room here.
I don't know why I decided to skip school after that.