Yes, I'm talking about you.

I may look calm, but on the inside I've killed you three times.

Stop acting stupid because you know that what you're doing is wrong, dude, and ignoring it won't make what you did go away. It won't make you be less of a jerk and more of a gentleman. It won't change what you're feeling now. What I'm feeling now. And it definately won't change what we felt then.

But even though you're stupid, and immature, and a smoker, and you think you're so cool I still love you consider you my friend. I still think about you and wonder if we'll ever happen, despite the fact that I know we won't. I haven't lost hope, even though our situation is hopeless, I still have faith in you, I believe you can change, become that man you want to be. The man that I thought you were, or that you could become with my help.

But maybe what you did to me is making you change. It made you realize how you were and it's making you want to mature, grow, become a better person. Sadly, though, you're changing into what I wanted, what I want, and you're not mine. You're going to be great, amazing even! But you won't be mine.

And I'll curse because all of my hurt made you into someone else's perfect boyfriend. All sacrifices and no gain except for the memories of those two times and the days before, the days when I thought you were sweet, and tame and when I thought that we had a very posible future together. Even though these memories seem like hardly enough I'll cherish them, and remember them for they tell my story. A story of pride and love, hurt and laughter, friends and lovers, truth and lies. And my story, like any good tale should, teaches a lesson I should not forget and reminds me of what people are capable of. The destruction one event can set into motion; how one word can fuck everything up and how one small tendril of hope and a small smile can start rebuilding bridges long ago burnt to the ground.