I know you're out there. You look through me. You used to scream and vent and throw up nasty little fingers. Now.... You just stare as if I never exsisted. As if we never met and shared and spoke and thought. I swear to you... we did have something for that little, little bit of time. Not sexual. Not happy. Intellectual, maybe? There is no word for what we had. No. Not one. I said things. I did things. Wrong. Horribly horribly wrong. "Sorry" doesn't cut it, I know. I hate those reminders. You mother walking ahead of me in the stairs. You brother sitting near with a cigarette dangling from his lips. The loud asshole of a man that speaks of you.... every once in a while. I hate being reminded that someone hates me.