deep stuff

Things aren’t the same anymore, but I’ll blame it on growing up.

Your quiet smiles always meant more than my raucous laughter.

Maybe I’m just jealous of your talent.

I aced the tests, but you learned the content.

Because when everything falls away, transcripts don’t matter.

After September, I’m not so sure anything I do matters.

Because when it’s quiet, I’ll fall down the hill, marked with the dead end sign.

If you were there, you would’ve known what to say.

But I’m afraid it would’ve broken you too.

You’ve always been fragile, so I take the blows of my own fist for you.

Then I’d sit in the back of the room with a black eye and catch myself smiling, and I’d have to remind myself I’m still mad at you.

Your silence is like a void that shatters the walls I meticulously build.

It screams into my muddled thoughts, clearer than the rest.

I avert my eyes from you to muffle the noise.

We’re like two identical magnets that fight to stay away.

But I’m your radioactive isotope; our lifespans are staccato.

Short and violent, they scare the audience, but are quickly forgotten when the legato melody floats in.

Still, I’d spend those seconds of time wishing I were you.