If you knew, would you still hurt me?
If, by some unknowable means, you found out what was in my garage, underneath my bed, in my dreams, would you say you were sorry, you didn't mean it, it was all in fun?
Your future is unknown to you. So you persist, pushing me further. You brought it all on yourself, you know. The ground is cold, when you've been thrown to it. My palms can still feel the stones. My hair is never clean, no matter how many times I wash it. That's because you think it's funny to help me mess it up again, with gum, old yoghurt and your own saliva.
I can't keep to myself. If I sit alone, your favourite pastime is to bump my desk, mark my work, laugh behind your hands as I pick spitballs out of my hair. I would tolerate you, you would still have promising futures, if I could work in peace. I don't need your friendship, I have the only friend I need. What I don't need is your damnation.
I just want to be alone.
Not that it matters now. Now, it's too late. No apologies would change my mind, no matter how heartfelt or desperate. It's your fault, you brought you own fate. I'm going to find peace, find solitude, one way or another. And you know what? I'm going to enjoy it. I'm going to enjoy being the dominant one, seeing you cower before me like I have cowered since I came here. It will you who will feel the grips of desperation, not unlike what I am feeling now. Maybe then you will understand.
Somehow I doubt it. But that doesn't matter.
I'll see you tomorrow.