in private conversations versus public display,
you’re a million different people and you can’t help but sway
between your annabella and the one you know they’ll like.
you know you can’t hide forever—baby, you can’t hide today.
and as the birds flock towards the south, you too travel about
trying to find a friend who wouldn’t leave you when you doubt.
but you squirm out of commitment; you’ve lost the guts to say
that maybe you disagree with what your flock is trying to say.
annabella, is that you? how are you that naïve?
i hate to watch you compromise more than i hated to leave.
find your place and settle down where you know you want to be.
you either suffer a million roles or choose the one to set you free.
perhaps i should have stayed with you, but i had to stand my ground.
you would have watched me fall apart as you made your way around.
and i ran out of gifts to give, and annabella, you did too.
i only wish i could apologize for running out on you.
Author notes
I actually wrote most of this about a year ago.
'Annabella' is the fake middle name I gave to one of my friends. (I went from Jo to Josephine; one friend went from Margaret to Margarita; and this one went from Ann to Annabella.) She ignored me, she replaced me, she betrayed me when I had given her my world. And yet I still miss her and wonder what it would have been like if she had told me happy birthday last year.
But that was high school. Which seems like a very long way away.
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