"Closing statements? There never were any. He didn't even have the common courtesy to write or even say goodbye for that matter. He was just gone. Shattered, I have yet to pick up the broken pieces of me that are still scattered in various places, places that I still, to this day have a difficulty visiting.

But before that…

Saying the age-old phrase of "we were young then" means absolutely nothing. Age is a number and nothing more. Maturity is the measure in question and there is no possible way for me to put a number on that.

Questions? Oh yeah, I had them. I still do. Unfortunately for me, he makes me so meek and quiet, I will never ask them.

For weeks and months I wondered what it had really meant. I questioned the actuality that was our friendship, because it was so much more to me. Every day I wonder what that time actually was to him. Friendship? Or boredom? Were those smiles that sent me soaring, reaching heights that were still yet unknown to man merely ploys that he used in order to entertain himself?

And then of course, were any feelings that got anywhere close to measuring up to mine ever in existence? I tell myself no in order to keep myself from imploding with all of the lingering pressure of possibility.

These things, I will never know. Because in order to know, I would have to ask the person himself, and that is the last thing I ever plan on doing.

The answers to these questions result in the final understanding of what exactly happened to us.

I still remember the days of sitting in my house, in my bathroom, on the floor shedding enough tears to flood my world as I wallowed in my misery and stupidity. The tears didn't feels as if they were leaking from my eyes. It felt as though the crack in that stupid organ in the left side of my chest was pushing out the blood and it was flowing out instead.

I still have those days.

Then there was her. She didn't last too long, but that doesn't mean that the blow wasn't low. He knew. He knew how I longed and waited, and instead of trying, he took another route and latched onto the first long legged, blonde haired, pretty vixen that you saw. I tell myself that he didn't pick her on the grounds of my pure hatred for her.

Eventually, that ended, but he still didn't want to try…and it cracked me that much more.

Then he left. And that was that. He talked to me once after and then abandoned me here; alone, confused, and broken.

It felt as though my life were like a giant log rolling down a long, perilous hill of life. She was the rock that the log sticks on for a while until something else eventually pushes it back along its course. Then he left and that was like a repetitive blow to the log. Then, the communication ceased completely and it was like he had shoved his foot right in the middle of the log, splitting it in half.

You laugh at me. You call me pathetic, over dramatic, attention seeking, desperate and idiotic. You don't know. You don't know anything of what it is like to feel the pain and suffering that I have personally witnessed in my life. In fact, I am pretty sure that you couldn't, even if I tried to explain it to you or if you felt it yourself because you are not me.

Of course, how can I forget to mention that after all of this, he decides to come back; the cherry on top of the perfect heartbreak. Now I have to see him everyday and watch as he pretends I don't exist.

And I forget about him for a while, until he pull something stupid and fuck it all up again. I cannot even count the number of attempts I have made towards moving on and getting over him. This stupid little piece of prose is one of them. But the fates do not seem to see it fit for such events to take place. They leave me here to suffer.

He doesn't stop being who he is. Looking at him, he is different, but internally, I can tell that it is still him; my best friend.

The really sick part about this whole ordeal is that regardless of what he has done or will do to me, I will always be here or there or anywhere for him. The part of me that remembers just won't let go.

This is the reason that I utterly despise memories and emotions. They get so helplessly tangled in each other to the point where it can rip a person to pieces. I have tried to unravel them, untying knots, unlocking secret parts of my mind where the thoughts had shoved themselves in the tiniest of crevices.

I've drawn the conclusion that I am never going to forget. I will continue in my attempts, but I am sure that I am hopeless. They always say you never forget your first love.

A closing word to him, even though he never had the common courtesy to give me one; a lumberjack you are, and always will you be; hacking at my heart."

She looked up from her paper and at the classroom around her. Every eye in the room was stretched open wide and staring blatantly at her. She turned and looked at her teacher to see her mouth hanging agape.

She nodded to her and walked back to her seat, taking in the attention that she was still getting. They never knew. They can sit and judge, but they never take the little bit of time to find what is hidden behind all of the hostility. They remember it, and they remember him. The only thing they know is who 'he' is.

And for that, I feel ashamed.

A/N: No clue what this is supposed to be. Review please, let me know what you think. I am going to do my best to get Joe, Image and Baby updated as soon as I can. I know, I'm awful…

But I try :)