Sometimes, Your best friends end up being your worst enemies.
My “best friend” never actually cared about me,
She wanted someone that cared about HER.
There was always someone else that would be picked first.
It was like being the imperfect fruit at the store, and sitting on the shelf waiting to be picked, but no one wanted it.
I tried my hardest to fit in.
I faked my interest in things so the people around me would want to talk to me.
All I received in return was fake friends.
The fruit’s still sitting on the shelf.
But one day, I was picked.
She was my best friend; one of my only friends actually.
She was the moon to my stars and the ketchup to my mustard.
We were friends for practically forever.
Then the fruits were restocked.
I was discarded like trash; left for the strays to tear me apart.
Piece… by piece…
The lies she told were written all over my face,
Making me feel like a waste of space.
Broken and bruised, battered and blue;
My only pursuit was a friend.
A friend that not only talked, but listened.
A friend that wouldn’t run away and look behind her to make sure I was still chasing after her.
Because a real friend wouldn’t do that right?
Her attempt to revive what she lost is over.
Because the day she left,
Something inside me died.
Now, I’m only a shell of the person I once was.
With a childhood stained with the memories of our past.
I continue to wait everyday for something that will never come.
For someone;
that will never return.
So I’ll wait for someone else to fill the void shaped like her.
Knowing no one can truly ever replace her.
My ex-best friend.