Well, this is it.
The day it all goes bad.
I got up today, and had to sit back down again, because my legs wouldn't work right. The bones still haven't set right apparently. Then, like a wave, suddenly I was sobbing.
I don't know how long for. When my mother came in, she found me rocking backwards and forwards, knees pressed to my chest, head down. No wonder she's scared of me. She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, ready to run probably. " Honey, what's wrong?" I couldn't reply. I just stared at her, and wondered when my life had got that bad that I couldn't tell my own mother my feelings. " I.. I just- I want.." She sidled closer, and pulled my legs down so I was sat on the bed, with my legs outstretched. " You'll mess up your leg reformation if you keep on like that." she said, walking away.
She used to talk to me for hours when I got upset, teasing apart my bad mood, and mopping up the fountain of words when I suddenly caved and spilled my soul. Now she leaves me alone to mull over it all, and pour my weirdness into music and guitar plucking, inane, repetitive melodies.
I'm getting better though. I learned A Lack of Colour by Death Cab For Cutie. You liked them, way back when. I did too. We always had an unusual music taste, from Pink Floyd to Death Cab. They helped me feel close to you, after. This is fact, not fiction. For once, my writing isn't a load of gobbledegook, pouring out of a bad mood. Its really how I feel.
Today was better after that. It gave me a reason to stay. Today was Saturday, the day they all came to see just how rueful I was. I sat there in my nice jeans, and Panic! at The Disco t-shirt, and let my mind wander while they all inspected me, and talked over my head.
I was too tied to you, I know. I hung on that little bit too long, and now you've taken that piece of me with you. That's why I'm here, I guess. I used to be so happy whenever I heard your name. You were the first guy to make me speechless. Hey, what an honour for you.