I have never really used dA as a means of venting. Maybe artistically, but never directly however I feel like every poet, despite being a poet, needs an outlet other than his or her stanzas.

Do you know that one person who you constantly feel like you are drifting away from even though you tell each other you aren't? Like you are two universes that instead of colliding at a rapid pace, are moving away from each other in an elaborate dance that looks like friendship but is actually a deterioration of all that you both know? I think I'm going through that and it hurts (a lot more than my cramps at this moment). At this point, I can only think. Feeling is out of the question because I always feel guilty. I always feel obligated to apologize for something I don't really know what. Our conversations aren't the same. When we hang out, I realize the awkward silences more. I feel obligated to look at the road. What do I say? Oh how's life...? The simple answer is, alright...yours? And then, in return, fine, fine. Peachy. Decent. Can't complain. The usual.

No, it is not fine. I am losing a very strong force. I drive down the roads in this shit town, the parkway, the side streets in my head and all I can point out perfectly are Ford pick-ups. I sit here, regrettably, panicking. This isn't the first time I've felt this way. It's like...reckless abandonment...I am recklessly abandoning you. Us, maybe. How, I still have to figure out, but I have a feeling it could be stopped. What do we talk about now? I hate lack of communication. Out of all the people I know, that I tolerate, that I chose to be with, you are one of my favorites.

What else is there to say? It's like a tundra between us, or that's what I'm getting. Hugs don't feel the same. Open your heart, open your mind! All of my nonsense that you listened to, why didn't you just stop? Why didn't you just leave like so many other people? Every time I cried about him, why didn't you just say shut up. Every time my dad did something, why couldn't you have said suck it up, it happens to everyone now? You were always there though. ALWAYS. And now I feel like Harry Potter after Dumbledore died. I don't know you. I know that when you look into the mirror of Erised, you see yourself with a new pair of socks. I know the basics of you, the very surface details. You know everything about me. Everything. You told me once you would tell me your story...but you know what, I'm still waiting. Like a ship at sea waiting for the lighthouse but coming to terms with seeing the empty glass at top. I could always be overreacting...right?

I am drinking green tea and trying to not be poetic. I am staring at my buddylist contemplating starting up the conversation again. The tea is really lukewarm and my organs are waging war on me. I think I'm missing pieces to my puzzle. What are you doing? Where are you...where have you been? Tell me a story. Start again. Rewind. Pause.