June 24, 2024. 04:02
On changing.
I wasn't like this before. I wasn't so brave, yet so weak. I wasn't so outspoken. My voice went largely unheard because the words wouldn't dare come out. No one could call it measly like it is.
I wasn't writing for fun on a Sunday evening. I wasn't so into glamour, like life, into the fine things—the stories, the style, the titles of the books and the songs, the culture, the candour, the people.
It's odd to notice the, uh, shift? Because, like any travel–the voyage that drifts bring–it fills your hands with sweat and your stomach with butterflies. It's like a physical reaction to the flight, even when the decision was made not to fight.
How do you say goodbye? To um, uh, a friend? Or rather, a version of you. It's abandonment, not a clean farewell.
After all, you're leaving her alone and astray. It's not what's best for her; she won't grow or live up to her fantasies, wishes and dreams. She'll be stifled, left alone, never seen...all because you chose the new girl. The one with a stud in her nose, frames on her face, and the occasional rings on her fingers.
The one who walks with her back straighter, who probably thinks she's all that. She sits with her friends and doesn't hunch over in shame, waiting to be found out. Instead, she talks with the same measly voice, wanting to be heard, and for the most part, they hear her.
Who does she think she is? She walks. She can't be seen with you anymore. She's not sorry.