You used to say it’s between me and her- when friends asked and thought about getting involved. As if we had it all under control, and your one french email to explain yourself was overly generous in keeping me in the loop.
You acted like you knew what you were doing, and I acted like I was stronger than I was- when neither of us really had a clue.
But all I wanted, what I needed, was someone to help me out. Maybe it’s not a matter of group involvement, but just a necessary point of view in calming the storm. A necessary hand to support your tumultuous see-saw.
Sometimes our words come out easier through a friend’s mouth, sometimes our tone is way too confusing to portray the pain, sometimes you’re too blindsided by your pathetic actions to hear any of my screams of surrender.
Even if I am way past your charm, you airily jump over sleepless tearful nights, disregard the awkward laughter I bring to the table and ask me to meet you for coffee when I’m back in town.
If you couldn’t see/ remember/ realise the awful crap I felt, you really were a stupid