It is almost frighteningly funny

how three years later,

transformed from first years to seniors,

we can eat breakfast together, joke together, hang out and hug

and sometimes, I let you walk me home.

 

 

It is almost humorous

that having had nightmares for months,

holding myself together in the showers

and drinking myself in to darkness you either:

A) Don’t know

B) Don’t care

C) Both

You were my best friend and my worst nightmare.

 

 

It is frustrating how fucked up it was,

even though you trusted me with your dreams and fears,

I felt tricked in to trusting you.

 

 

When I struggled, you held me tighter.

When I said “no” you wrapped your arm around my throat.

Tight.

When I begged, “please stop, please,”

you forced yourself inside of me again,

and again,

and again.

 

 

And when you were done,

the next morning

we ate breakfast together and joked together and hung out and hugged

and sometimes, I let you walk me home.