To Whom It May Concern:


I can’t figure out what’s worse: forgetting you completely, or living with the pain? Forgetting would be so much easier, but think of what’s at stake. Countless days, I woke up just so I could be there to laugh when you walked in the door, late as usual, with your hair still wet and your clothes a bit…off. You’d smile and make and excuse for everyone else, one that was general and believable enough, and then you’d squeeze past everyone else and take your seat next to me. You’d sigh heavily and throw your bag on the ground and begin telling me the dramatic tale of how your Mom made you late…again. Then there were times when you’d get us all in trouble for being too loud when we were laughing at something you said or drew. Or when we’d go to lunch and you’d make a bigger mess in five minutes than a toddler can do in thirty, staining the table and my pants Slushie red. I couldn’t stay pissed at you for more than the five minutes it took to clean it up. I also don’t want to forget the things you only ever told me, things I can’t even bring myself to write. In fact, there are only a few things I want to forget. But living with this empty, defeated feeling of loss, this dull, numbing pain that’s never more than a memory away…I wonder if you’re worth remembering. Sometimes I think I’d be better off having never met you. I’d rather feel like I’ve been missing something beautiful in my life than knowing that I’ve lost something beautiful in my life. I draw pictures, write stories and poems, read books, listen to songs, and watch movies now that remind me of you and I cry. Even when I still had you, you were one of only two people that had that effect on me. The only difference now is that I’ve unknowingly let another join that elite group. But strangely, this third member doesn’t hurt nearly as much as you because they don’t need me. I know that at some point, you needed me like you need air to breathe. And no, I’m not being cocky and you know it. You know it because when you most felt worthless and depressed, I was there, providing you with the things that you needed most. When people fucked with your head and your heart, I let you hide behind me and I fought them off, tooth and nail, and they knew not to press their luck with you when I was around. Who else defended you like I did? Then, no one. Now, a select few who felt the same as I did then but let me do the screaming. You needed defending from the very people you wanted to belong to. I didn’t, and still don’t, understand why you felt you needed those shallow people, but I defended you nonetheless.

Do I love you? Without a doubt. Does it matter? Probably not. You’ve found new people to adore your image, but who will love you when you want to be yourself?

It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m left with a heart-shaped scar and a question of what is worse: forgetting you or living with your memories? I don’t know. I guess I’ll do what you did and simply forget that you’re important to me, because you are.


From Who It No Longer Concerns