old friends are a different matter; friends are lining for the soul.
new scents to breath. new scenes to see. a new me to be.
few things irritate me more than having chapter 4 tromp into chapter 7,
acting like they own the place.
excuse me, i say, but i think you may be lost. i left you back there.
oh darling, they cry, is that really you?
no, i think. it's not the me you thought you knew.
yes, i politely smile. it's great to see you.
and the you of chapter 7 is elbowed to the side
as their illusion of chapter 4 snatches the spotlight.
they rehash memories, and you let them live in their nostalgia,
flawed as it may be.
but then apathy turns to anger.
you're tired of their looking. you want them to see.
you want to scream. at them. at the world.
not to slap them with your ire, but to press the concept upon them,
"i'm not that girl anymore." and was i ever, really?
a scream to exhaust all emotion, full of frustration at the persistent past and yearning for a future chance.
one that rips off the paper they've wrapped around you, paper scrawled with judgements and assumptions and blotches of past mistakes. inhale, stretch yours lungs, and scream a scream until the paper rents and tears.
you will calmly step through
one leg, then another.
you will emerge