Every time I see a scrawny tall boy with acne, dirty blonde hair, and glasses,
My head feels dizzy and for a moment I am convinced my lungs hold shards of glass. I am frozen in time looking at a lanky stranger, because in those few minutes I am convinced I am looking at you. And if I was looking at you- really you- then I knew you were pulling a prank the whole time.
I am not easy to trick.
These months you had spent hiding, the days where I called and you wouldn’t pick up; they were all part of your elaborate ruse. You jokester! And really, you had me impressed, you truly committed to this hoax, making me believe you were actually dead. What a fool I am for believing your game.
It has almost been a year since I last saw your face, giving you a hug as you told me you’d see me that weekend. Why would you leave? How could you just get up and go?
I am stuck here wondering. And all you have left me is a motive to write depressing poetry. Thanks.