chaka chaka

“If your friends all jumped off a bridge, would you jump off too?”

if you asked me, i probably would have. i got into trouble for you, got dragged into random fights because of you, obligingly entered into your petty little power struggles (less of struggles than they were games, we all know who would emerge the victor).

i’m not discounting the free will (or lack thereof) that i exhibited in your presence. i did things and accepted your ideologies and adopted your taste in music and agreed wholeheartedly without duress. but it was tiring; all-consuming to the point of worship. and what did that leave me with? in retrospect (isn’t it always?) i honestly don’t know how much of my self  i could have claimed as my own.

but then again, i’m rambling only with the bravado of someone who’s had the luxury of a 5-year cooling-off period. of course i cried myself to sleep and played our last conversations on repeat trying to analyse my choice of words and my tone and manner (was i harsh? sharp? cold? rude?), wondering what it was i did to offend you. i asked, but it’s not like i meant enough to warrant an answer. and in the silence, the airy childhood dreams we built while smoking cigarettes on your bed dissolved into rather unpleasant revelations.

years later i would be offered the chance to finally know, but i had come to realise that i already do. i sacrificed a hell of a lot for you, and what was i but your sacrificial lamb. chew me up and spit me out again?

thanks, but no thanks.