Young Writers Society

I love you.

I love how you laugh, how you talk, how you smile. Sometimes seeing all of it is the highlight of my day. I love how ropy your arms are, casually slung around my shoulders; I love how your creativity explodes out of you any way that it can; I love how proud you are when the script comes out of your mouth just right. My heart swells when I see you, but I shrink back, afraid of being seen and rejected. Your friendship is priceless, your humor is timeless. I love all of it.

I hate you.

You’re insensitive, rash, immature, and plain stupid. You don’t think before you speak, setting off a war without even knowing, and you have no respect for anyone, not even yourself. I can see it when no one else is looking- you're lost in your own world, your own problems, absorbed in your ego. You’re too moody for anyone to handle, and you’re so, so childish. I have all the reason in the world to slap you, hit you, kick you; to yell at you, fight with you, scream at you. I hate all of it.

I miss you.

There’s a void where you should be. Do you remember how it felt when you lost a tooth, and where you poked your tongue, there was nothing there but slippery flesh? That emptiness- that’s how I feel when you’re not there. I need you here, to make me blush with your too-close body, to make me laugh with your wild gestures, and to make me furious with your thoughtless sharp words. You’ve become a part of my life, like the stage is, like the air I breathe is. I can’t get over you. You’re too much a part of me now. I’ll always miss you.

That’s all there is, I guess. When everything is stripped away and gone, that’s all that remains.

I love you.

I hate you.

I miss you.

The end.

Do you remember how it felt when you lost a tooth, and where you poked your tongue, there was nothing there but slippery flesh?