So I was in love with my best friend in high school, not uncommon. She was and is maybe the most important person in my life and that pretty much sums it up. Our other friends weren’t particularly close or nice even. So we were maybe a bit overly codependant. I loved her a lot, even as just a best friend. Enough that I didn’t really care about starting a romantic relationship. I was happpy just to have her in my life in any capacity.

It’s been six months since we graduated and I’ve only talked to her maybe twice since then. (Sometimes I wish we both weren’t to anxious to really use these stupid phones). We can talk for hours and hours when put face to face, or even on a phone call. But getting her on a phone call these days seems to have become impossible. I wish I knew why.

She boarded at our high school you see, and now that it’s over she lives like 8 hours away from me. I don’t even have my license yet so I can’t drive down to see her.

I just miss her a lot. So I’m gonna deal with that through sappy prose and bad poetry.

The name blue ivy (completely unasscociated with Beyoncé) comes from how I used to doodle these vines in blue pen on everything in high school. It kinda encaptures the whole thing for me now. That distracted, kinda half realised, everyday beauty. The kind you won’t find unless you go looking. The kind that makes life worth living.

Maybe I’m just a bit of a sap

I’ve always seen in colours

Anger red and Sadness blue

Warm toned world faded grey

In the aftermath of you

I’d seen yellow before of course

But never quite that shade

It clung to you like sunshine

Flowers bright as they decayed

Then suddenly you were gone

Although I guess it wasn’t so sudden

My hope grew soft as cotton

That I’m lost but not forgotten

The walls are painted cream, reflecting lamplight back soft yellow.

But sunlight can’t quite reach, and even on warm afternoons, the room remains in shades of blue.

Of course, the blue seeps throughout the room. Worn scarfs, patterned duvet and a whole shelf of books all varying shades of the same cool tone.

Every once in a while it all shifts though, warm light more implied then present when blush blooms across the space. The warm plush winter robe and matching autumnal cardigans, shading through the pink range of an evening sky. The loose knit woollen blanket more dusty then rose. The old painting, made of the bright colours so long past. All hinting at what almost is, was, will be.

The walls are painted cream, but even warm sunlight still reflects blue. Pink sky’s trickle inwards as the years pass, their blush swelling and receding as calm waves on a sheltered shore.

I don’t need you to save me. I don’t even need you to love me. It has always been more than enough that you understood me.

But how can you understand someone you never see. How do you have hope for a relationship that no longer exists.

I have never really needed you. But having you there, when otherwise I would have had no one, means more to me than you can ever know.

You are the most important person in my life so far. You didn’t have to do anything, and I didn’t need you to, but you did something anyways.

I hope I was there for you, was able to help you in some of the same ways.

I don’t think I was.

All I can do is hope that I wasn’t too wrapped up in myself to provide you with the same love and attention and support you gave me.

All I can do is hope now.

Now that you’re gone.

I called again today, on the 25th of June 2020. It was 1:17 in the afternoon.

I’d just sat down in the park again, the same one from last time. I had a new playlist going. Mum can never see its name.

“The summertime and butterflies all belong to your creation.”

I miss you, still.

That must be a given at this point. How much of this is hope? How much is my inability to let go? How much is having no one else?

This park really is beautiful. Can I keep returning here? Will I always ascociate it with thoughts of you?

This could be my new place.

Will it be lost to me? One day will I have to let go? It’s beauty shaded cool despite the warm winter light, the breeze too cold against my sun warmed skin.

There are 23 songs on your track now. If there is an end to this, how many will be on it by then?

I miss talking too you so much.

I used to share absolutely everything with you. All the dark and buried memories that came flashing out in the safety and warmth you provided.

I still love you, still bath in the light of what you meant to me. Those memories still pop up, and I turn to tell you everytime, only to find your no longer there.

I remembered a game recently. It was only game.

A game I played with myself.

How long can I go, how long can I last? One day? Two? Maybe even three?

Looking back now I wonder how no one noticed. I was so proud, walking with confidence for what seemed the first time.

Too bad the cost of that was a foggy mind, breathing hard through heavy limbs, pushing constantly past half recognised breaking points. Constantly on the verge of collapse. But wasn’t that the point?

It was a game, how did it end?

A game you never saw. A game long forgotten by the time I met you.

But now I remember and your not here for me to tell.

It’ll remain a game that only I ever knew. Maybe it should never have even been, but it’s too late for someone to notice, and it’s too late to share this with you.

Sat in a park today, under some majestic evergreens. The sunlight was warm on my skin when I went out to sit on the grass. There was a new kind of peace in starting a book in winters afternoon light, yesterday’s dew sticking to my tights, shadows drifting slowly across the lawns.

But beneath the shade of those elder behemoths all I could think about was her. Sap dripped into my leather journal, coloured purple and messy. A cliche wrapped in a cliche wrapped in every pretentious metaphor.

I had nothing new to say, nothing new to write, or think, or feel. But the peace remind’s me of her. The deep greens and soft yellows, the trickling fountain and clear winter sky.

Maybe the “summertime and butterflies” never really “belonged to your creation”. But it’s hard to see beauty and not think of you now.

I called her yesterday.

She didn’t pick up. Again.

I don’t think I really expected her too.

I’m not sure which is more disappointing.

I try not to call to often.

But I love her. Love talking to her. Even about the most mundane of things.

I had to do the dishes twice today, ugh. What did you have for breakfast? Isn’t it getting so cold lately . . .

I had music playing while I called. Pulled out my old CD player.

It was a little ironic, turning done heartbreak weather to make my monthly unanswered call.

Last time I left a message.

Love you, miss u, call me back if you want!

This time I didn’t have the heart.

Listened to the answering machine that doesn’t even list her name. Hung up two seconds after the beep.

I don’t think I have the heart to keep calling.

I miss her so much, but it feels more and more like a rejection every time she doesn’t pick up.

There are a million and one reasons she might have missed the call. And I know her well enough that I don’t expect her to ever call me herself, anxious as it would make her.

But god, how do I keep doing this?

I love her so much. As a best friend, as a crush, as whoever she wants to be to me!

I’ll probably call again, in a week, a month, maybe two.

I’ll keep saying hello until she tells me goodbye.

I’ve had this for ages, since I was like 14. But I’ve never really posted on it before, just reblogged a whole bunch of fandom stuff.

Needless to say I don’t know much about tumblr. I guess I just like the idea of ranting into the void . . .