I followed my heart but every time I do, it gets me lost and left in the dark/But I think it’s clear this time, I guess; we’re just not compatible…

We were terrible for each other. I get it; we were both so self-destructive that we needed each other to justify why we were so fucked up. Our intoxication was killing us and we didn’t care. We kissed with numb lips and altered emotions. The arguments took such a toll that you finally realized how unhealthy our encounters were. It would be for the best…if I weren’t so worried about your wellbeing.

I didn’t even know you were in so much pain the first time we decided to deal with each other. You hid it just as well as I hid mine. You laughed with the same halfhearted smile creeping along your face; it fooled me at first. The jokes didn’t mean anything to you, either. I never noticed and kept feigning confidence and goofiness. Who would have thought a friendship birthed out of keeping up appearances would become something much more? Our arms show the stress of life’s obstacles and each alternating puff alleviated us from it all.

The worst part is that I barely remember. Every vodka-chased pill and loosely rolled Swisher Sweet was more than temporary bliss. Everything was so hazy; it was picturesque in such a terrible way. Descending into a hellish trap never seemed so desirable before. Judgment wasn’t allowed to exist in this glossy-eyed microcosm. Every vulnerable and slurred sentence only spoke to the shared injury we wrongly attempted to run from. Every blank stare became so irresistible and made everything that followed so uninhibited. Desperately holding onto someone falling off the same slope felt oddly comforting.

It is what it is…

I cling to the memories, trying to leave out the toll it eventually took on us both. The final argument was unhealthy and both our stubbornness was only fueled by the intoxication. The very thing- our thing- that made us close tore us apart. Our hands never stayed off each other but this final encounter was created out of the wrong passion. I whispered terrible things and grabbed for your neck clumsily. I saw fear in those dilated pupils and can only now cope with those actions properly.

In our self-destruction, everything was so impulsive. I just hope the death of our friendship provides a healthier lifestyle for us both. Our relationship wasn’t created in sobriety so I never act on my many passing thoughts. Those hazel eyes and slender legs came with a price I almost killed myself in paying. All of those altered times meant everything yet left no moments I can specifically recount. Clarity didn’t come easy because of what I barely remember and I can only hope you feel the same.

A.J. Armstrong is a relieved friend of both and the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities