An Explanation Long Overdue

I really shouldn't be writing this right now. I should be plodding my way through Matrices. But my trusty little laptop was calling to me, and I really couldn't resist its summons.

Also, I owe you an explanation of sorts and writing is what comes to me naturally, hence this.

Yes; it honestly is easier to write either when you're making me cry (for no fault of yours, let me assure you) or I'm really livid at you… or when I'm driven to creativity by this witch called Jealousy.

It's stupid and selfish, and if I want to pass my English Language Board paper, I'm really going to have to outgrow this. Also, I suspect that if I want to continue being friends with you, this behaviour needs to die. I realise that it's massively unfair to you.

But it worked, didn't it? I got into the Ed Board with an incomplete, almost illegible essay. Credit to you, my friend!

I can't read you, sometimes. Maybe it's because I'm looking too closely, and happening across too much subtext that was never written. And that's why pieces like CtrlZ exist- I really am insecure about this friendship of ours. I suppose you'll say that I have no reason to be. If that's truly the case, then- thank you.

So please don't place this gag order on me, let me ask if you're mad at me. I need the constant assurance that you aren't. Yes, I am aware that it's massively irritating… but bear with me?

The drama. That's something that us poets and writers- I'm going to take the liberty to add myself to this category- thrive on. Drama adds meaning to our lives, to our words, our friendships and the way we view the world around us. So when I'm being overly dramatic or exaggerating far more than necessary, let it pass. Remember that, fundamentally, I'm level-headed; and that most of my inanities are of no real consequence- except, of course, in that moment.

Alright, fine. I have mood swings. Sometimes, they're governed by hormones. But more often than not, they're without reason. Well, there is an underlying logic to them… but it would take too long to go into the details, and as I said- Matrices await. It would be lovely if you just let them pass, talk it out, and hope that the next one doesn't catch you by surprise.

It's taxing to be friends with you, you know. It is one of the best things, being counted among your friends; but it's taxing nonetheless. Some days you're the sweetest thing after my favourite non-dark Swiss chocolates; and other days- you're colder than ice. (See? An unnecessary exaggeration right there) There are days when I'm not even wholly sure that we're friends. But then, those days are outnumbered by the days I glide through school, high on the knowledge that we are.

That was drama. It added effect to the paragraph. Do you see, now, why I like it?

I realise it must be a challenging task, being friends with me… and therefore having to deal with all my idiosyncrasies. (No, it's not a long word that no one uses. Au contraire, almost everyone uses it) It must be hard, consoling me when I break down for no good reason while studying As You Like It, or when I'm cursing the whole world for having flunked Math. It must be even more difficult to deal with the times when I'm bemoaning the fact that I'm fat and nowhere close to being pretty. Props to you for coming up with the sweetest things to say.

But what surprises me the most is that you're still friends with me after all the poetry I write about you. Even you must realise that the poems can be interpreted as love poems. Though, let me assure you, as of right now, they aren't. How is it that you haven't run away screaming yet? Why haven't you been all, 'Crap this girl is insane! I'm never ever talking to her again!'

I know your response to that varies from the really sweet, 'The this-girl-is-insane moment came on day one, but the I'm-never-talking-to-her-again moment won't be coming for a while' to the even sweeter 'The this-girl-is-cool-and-talking-to-her-is-fun moment's been here for a year, now.'

I understand that early last year, when you discovered I wrote obsessively about you, you might have found it interesting. But now? I think it's amazing that you still read everything I write. It gives me much needed encouragement, you know? How you deal with my stalker-like tendencies, only you know.

I think what I'm trying to say is that you and I, both, are complex people with multiple layers to our existences; and that peeling back those layers- and accepting the mundane along with the insane- is what adds strength to our friendship. I think dealing with the other person's crazy little habits, and well-veiled insecurities is something that will prepare us for any number of eccentric people we might meet along the course of our lives.

The lateness of the hour is appalling, and the Matrices are taunting me from where they're cosily ensconced in my quilt. I think I shall go finish the chapter; after all, we have a fifteen-chapter Math test on Sunday. And a Chemistry test on Saturday. And a Position Paper due Sunday. And a Math Project due Monday. And English homework due God-knows-when.

It'll be a long weekend, packed with work. But I suppose, you and I will be glued to the phone, talking our way through the various tasks.

I look forward to it. Do you?

Author's Note: I'm too lazy to publish it elsewhere just so you won't ever clap eyes on this.

That was a whopper of a piece! But I loved every moment of writing it, and the conversations that preceded it. Tell me what you think?

I'll return reviews as long as your work isn't M Rated.