Maybe
By N. Archer
I never thought the words would come up, but I should've guessed. After all that happened.
"I want to go home."
She said.
Maybe we shouldn't have messed with her life.
Maybe it was bad of us to tell her what was right, even though it was wrong.
Maybe the life she got was ruined by us.
"I want to go home."
"I don't want to come back"
"I'd rather die than let myself get sucked in by fake kindness."
She was everything a friend could ask for: Nice, trustworthy, playful, secretive, athletic, artistic, most everything. We ruined it for her. We obliviated her wish to become one of them. Because she is supposed to stay on of us.
Maybe she won't leave.
Maybe she will.
Maybe we'll be friends again.
"I hope you know what they did to me."
"What I did to them was because of you!"
"I never want to see or hear you again, you hear! I hope you never find happiness!"
Those words. They strike harder than ever. She was torn after what she did. What we made her do.
The poor girl talks to herself now, she has no one to trust and no one to trust her. Her parents yell because they're cranky, but still love her to death at the end of the day. It's hard to believe she's still around to know that she is loved by someone, but she may end up with no one. Is it because of us?
Is it because of them? She will not talk to us. They will not let her back in. Because of us.
Because of me. - N.
