ClownDude,
i find it weird that i miss you. perhaps not you, since the you i invented never really existed … i just twisted who you used to be into what i wanted. you were my savior, the one who saved me from drowning and carried me on backs of giant swan wings, but only in my dreams and notebooks. in real life you were the obnoxious show off that everyone detested.
but i chose to like you. i was quiet and i observed you as if i were to be tested on what you wore each day i saw you. i remember i was instantaneously turned off when your hair grew long, i eventually came to enjoy it though, as i did with your voice.
but since your brother committed suicide, its been different. you changed so much, enough that the couple times a year i see you i rarely recognize you. you wear dark clothing and swear, smoke and do drugs and i wonder if you would have ended up that way if he hadn’t died.
it’s like the soft hearted one doesn’t live inside you anymore. but… then why do i still think about you? dream about you? dream of you kissing me? caressing my body? i don’t want you, you’re no good. then why does my stomach explode with butterflies whenever you enter the room, or i hear your name or your voice? tell me what to do !
— the girl from the lake where they tell you to leave
