On Your Rememories

Dear Comrade,

We have been separated for far a long time. It was great, however, to somewhat see that you are becoming better. You are training yourself to become someone that you feel is better. Dear Comrade, you dried a river in me, one that I thought was perfect. One that I did not know was possible to suffocate. It is great though, as much as it hurts, it's all right. I know the laser of betrayal is still hanging on your lungs. I know. But however much it hurts and pins you down, you have to see that you are attempting to become someone strong, but you already are. You were alone as you say, you were betrayed by one of the most horrible betrayals ever. You were lead on, stretched apart, ripped aside, and glued back together. Wherever you are in this world, I hope that my love for you will not do what it did before, and that is rip another piece of you, but give you luck, potential, hope, and a kick on the side to get things done. Dear Comrade, I, with all my heart and regrets, ask for you to hear my sorriness. I am sorry. And I know that sorry does not mean much to you, but it does to me. It has this huge meaning behind it, with all these little stories in between. So I am sorry. I am sorry for taking you to the moon, pulling out the gun and shooting it so all those stars can come out of it and amaze you. I am sorry I could not understand the Japanese symbol for "Love" that you pinned to the tree. I am sorry that I was not a good navigator for your Z. I am sorry that I did not get on the other side of the fence when you took me to the house up in the hills. I am sorry for walking back and forth through the entrance of the beat down house as you stood inside listening to my stupid words, those words that I thought meant nothing to you, but indeed scraped your heart. I am sorry when I couldn't find your house the day I went out looking for you to get an answer to the question you never answered. I am sorry that I never ever took a trip with you to the top of the Lindsay mountain. I am sorry for meting you at the new high school, and listening to you say that I am tall, but that you've had a tall girlfriend before, ans I interpreted as something different, something that was not the obvious message. I am sorry when you came to visit me, the last day we saw each other before our fight. I am sorry that you left your wallet under the chair on the porch, "accidentally." I am sorry that when you came back and I answered the door, the image of us catching each other's eyes for that mini second, the picture has been tattooed in my memory. I am sorry for not knowing why. I am sorry that I am going to leave the country and stay away from you. I am sorry I want to be oh so next to you. I m sorry for when I passed you by at the graduation, when you were with your little brother and I was with some friends. I am sorry I kept glancing towards your direction. I am sorry for that time where I texted you while I was in STATS class in college, to do an imaginary race in our texting. I am sorry I couldn't hurt you like she did. I am sorry that they had a true relationship with you and I didn't. I am sorry for jumping to a conclusion the day you fought. I am sorry that every time someone calls me typical, that surging burn runs through me, because I'm a "typical fucking Lindsay person." I am sorry that we might run into each other again. I am sorry that every time Elephant Back blooms green, it adds another time of despair and sorrow to me. I am sorry for not telling you. I am sorry. Dear Comrade, I am sorry for mispronouncing the word Comrade. I am sorry for it all. But I am not sorry for falling in love with you.

Crash.

Crash.
My name is Crash and I'm alone.
I didn't want to write alone, because it feels as if I'm exaggerating.
Like my mind just said alone, and I felt the burn. That burn I get when something really hurts me. Like when my mom talked about separating from my dad. Or when I remembered how much I loved Jonathan. See? I almost got it again, when I wrote his name. I feel stupid, whining about the things I'm putting myself through. But I know it's my choice, but something bad happens, and it's almost as if I make myself dwell over it, just to feel pain. Maybe I feel as if I don't have enough pain to be considered a human being, but I do. Maybe I see myself doing beyond the freedom I've always wanted as a child. Like getting in a train, watching the stars, taking a night walk or run. My name is Crash, because  I'm crashing my life, "but it's okay because it's a challenge, and I love challenges," I tell myself. I cannot have myself crying. No one will ever see me cry. Because my name is Crash, and physically, I don't crash.