bubble gum

We wandered the field today, and the streets. We sat in the grass by the stream at the back and we talked. I made grass-babies because I couldn’t say the words that were sitting on the tip of my tongue. I just wanted to apologize to her, to say “I’m sorry for being terrible, I’m sorry I never made sense,” but I couldn’t. I couldn’t deal with what she’d say and I couldn’t find a way to begin that conversation so I didn’t. We walked and talked and worried about our friends (is everyone around me being ripped and torn and cut apart? If they are why on earth haven’t I heard their screams?). We ate lunch. She played me a song on my broken guitar. I told her over and over there was something important to say, but I couldn’t remember; why do I lie like that? She hugged me awkwardly once when I was cold, and once to say goodbye, and we will never be best friends again and we will never be anything else, either, except this, two people united by a lot of craziness and a lot of caring and divided by the same things.  I suppose that’s fine.