Prison Room

I miss you already.
I wish I hadn't killed the image I had of you in my mind. I wish you still existed. But I had to, you know why.
Sometimes I wonder what I could have really done.
I wanted to escape from a prison I wanted to grow gardens in. I wanted the cherry blossoms and green little leaves in the stale grey prison floor of your friendship.
Could I have just stayed? Would I have survived more than a year caring for you? Starving for you?
I thought I could paint your walls, sweep your dusty floors and hide your sad little windows with flowery curtains but what did I know? That you would throw out the value in it and call for a trade? That you would disregard how much I would have given up for you if you hadn't wanted benefits.
Benefits.
My ears ring, your words right here in the glowing screen float right around my head. I had been a fool. A fool to think friendships can survive on parasitism. I bent and bent and bent and suddenly you shook my branches and shot at my fruits with your catapult. Why won't you just take the ones hanging low, right at your hand?
Oh you didn't mean to. I hear you scrambling. I hear your excuses. You might be true, might be lies you've told yourself again and again until you believed it to be true or again, maybe just a lie. But I've had enough of adjusting to live between walls that keep closing in. It's hard to break down my pink tinted glasses and question you.
So from here I see you, the one who built my prison room. I have travelled miles and months away from you. I have already forgotten the cracks in your ceiling. And a part of me feels a little lost. You look as dull as ever and I wish I could come back and help you feel better. But all things said and done lead to ruins and I stand on top of the biggest ruin of them all and look down on you. The ruins of a potentially beautiful friendship.