You never really wanted me, which I know. Or not in the state I was, anyway. You were so entranced with me at first, so captivated with my beauty. You would sit and watch me every night as I hesitantly swayed in the moonlight. I was careful with every step, trying to believe that I was graceful, that I was beautiful. I couldn't though, not after what they did.

You wouldn't want the real me, just the cardboard cutout, the painted smiles. The smiles were empty, held no meaning, and you knew that. So why did you still move forward? Why did you still try to reach me, even though I was already gone? Still, captivated with me, you pushed your way through, only to discover that I was broken. Turning away, you left. Only to return, hoping that someone else had mended my heart. It was no use to you broken, really. And you couldn't be bothered to fix it, too tedious, too time consuming. Besides, you knew that I would discover the truths that you had tried to hide if you came too close. You hid them well; I applaud you for that, really. But not well enough to be let off the hook.

So I'll listen to your excuses, no matter how pathetic and far-fetched they are. Because that's what friends do. I can see through your lies, you know. I notice how your half-hearted attempts to fix us do nothing but wind us in circles, twisting and turning in your own form of reality. I'm not blind, though sometimes I wish I were. Then I wouldn't have to see the look on your face when you come crying back to me, after finding that her world doesn't evolve around you.

So much has changed about you. I even notice the little things, like how your smile isn't the crooked, carefree smile that I fell in love with; it's a straight smile, no teeth showing. She convinced you that your smile showed weakness, walls threatening to crumble. Honestly, she was only trying to change you. Trying to make you like them. I can't blame her for that, no matter how much I want to. Countless others have tried to do the same, it's human nature. But still, I notice the smile. And how your eyes no longer shine, and give a little shimmer of their own when you're happy, which used to be almost all the time. Now they're dull, and colorless, like their eyes.

So believe me when I tell you that I feel bad for the midnight fights that tore us apart. I blame them on myself because I have no one else to blame. But that's the thing, isn't it? You would spend endless nights, rocking me to sleep through the phone with your captivating voice, assuring me that it was never my fault. So what do you expect me to do now that even you think it's my fault? I can't fight you, no matter how many times you tried to make me fight back.

"Love is when you put forever around their hearts"

Love. It's an odd word, isn't it? It has an even odder meaning. Though I'm doubtful that love even has a meaning. There were times when you would open your heart, to show me what was inside, or rather, what wasn't. But only for a moment, until your guard came back up, and everyone was "out to get you". But I guess I saw something inside of you that others didn't. I saw love. Not that that'd stop you from being like them now. Not after what happened. Not after what they did.

I wish I could hate you for abandoning me, for becoming like them. But I can't, and that makes it worse. Every time I dance, still without grace, I peek round my dark eyelashes, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. And no matter how much I tell myself that you're gone, I still have that little piece of hope in my heart. A little piece of hope that only fades away when I peer around the corner, only to be greeted with silence. And, like a little bubble of air, that tiny shred of hope comes back again when I once again sway in the moonlight, hoping for your safe return.

I know I should talk to you, try to find some sort of explanation. But these waves of regret just keep wearing us both down, drowning us both in your half-hearted apologies. Your thorn-covered heart keeps stabbing mine, forming pretty scars to last a lifetime.

And you'd think that it would be easier to let go of something that never existed in the first place. Trust me, its not. I find myself always waiting for something, anything, to distract me from my endless waiting for you. This town is getting old, and the only thing keeping me here is you. So I suppose it's time to let go of the past, and head on to the future. I suppose, that is. For now, I'll just sit and wait, smiling with the memories.