C-L-S

I crave physical touch,

I need to feel skin to skin,

I need to be felt,

I crave something I hate.

I've never liked hugs or the feeling of someone touching me,

I am saying good bye to you,

my dear reader,

Because I know after I look back over my shoulder you will be gone,

onto the next page,

maybe even the next book,

One more year until you're gone,

One more year before I probably won't see you again,

One more year of our many years of friendship being thrown away,

One more year until I break.

I wonder what people see when they first look at you,

are they nervous?

Are they afraid?

Do they wonder about your thoughts?

Or do they see you as an everyday person?

Or do they think you look kind,

You left dead flowers at my grave,

as if they were all the same.

Most leave bouquets,

even though they will slowly die,

just like me til I made it to the afterlife.

I hate you,

I hate the way you make me feel,

and the way you talk to me.

I hate how you look at me,

like no one else is in the room.

I hate how when I sit next to you,