First.

Was it worth it?

I saw your face tonight. Again, you've come to visit and remind me of sins from that day. I think this'll make it the third time this week. For several months your image has haunted me. Like a witches specter you've stolen into my sleep and disturbed my dreams, rendering me restless for the duration of that night.

Would I be asking for too much if I asked for a decent nights sleep? Just one, I promise I won't ask for more. I'd just like one night to have my mind to myself. To have it void of your naked, cinnamon colored body and of your soft whimpers that become lost under my heavy breath as my weight shifted on top of you. I'd like to go to bed without seeing your almond colored eyes swell with tears as they waited for the nightmare to end.

The nightmare that's now become mine as I watch it replay vividly in my head, time after time again. And in each of its occurrences it becomes worst, more violent, more barbaric. I can't even make out if the monster that's taken on my form in my sleep is really me or something else all together. Some evil beast that's been lurking in the darkest parts of my being, just waiting for it's chance to get out. Could it be my true self? The form of my lustful desires? I just don't know anymore.

But I do know I never meant to hurt you. I never intentionally set out to make you cry and hate me. And you could never tell me you don't hate me because I see it. I've watched you force a smile as you board our bus and join your friends. The way you fake your laughter at their jokes. You might fool them with your mask but you can't fool me. No, you wouldn't even try to. You'd never even attempt to spare me the sight of the scars I've left eternally engraved on your heart. This I know, for when your eyes should accidentally meet mine, everything you've been hiding comes bubbling to the surface. It hits me hard when I see that torn expression and the only response I could give to those sad eyes is a frown of disapproval before turning my head.

I can't explain why it is that I act so coldly towards you. All I want to say is I'm sorry and make you understand but instead I keep my lips shut tight, offering not the slightest bit of remorse. Some how I always try to play the victim. I'm so use to people showing me pity and trying to atone for the misfortunes I was handed that I don't know how to show sympathy to others.And so maybe it's good that we take a break. Perhaps I should be left to handel the burden of my actions silently and on my own. Losing sleep, slipping behind in school, and being without you is the least I could do.

This is probably all for the better anyway. Because I am not the victim, I am the aggressor. How foolish and naive was I to think that a boy, still new to highschool and the world, still ignorant of the responsibilities that came along with sex, believed he could handel taking things to the next level with someone who wasn't even his girlfriend. You were a girl and my friend, the closest of them but you were never my ''girl''. Our relationship was far too delicate to be tested by that of teenage romance. But because of the years I had on you, I was able to convince you to let me exert my curiosities on you. First I wanted to practice kissing. Then as you grew older and your body began to bloom into that of a woman, I tricked you into letting me touch you. It was only a matter of time before I lead you into my bed and now I've chased you from my life all together. No, you weren't my girlfriend, you were my dearest friend and our relationship couldn't stand the tides of "love" nor my wild hormones.

Knowing all of this and more, my thoughts still contradict my feelings. My wants are far stronger than my reasoning and I still lust for your attention. For your smiles and laughter and your tears too. All them I want to own. To have you tagging along my side again is what I wish for the most. How great we looked together, your chocolate coated skin melting together with my vanilla topping, creating a sweet, mixed swirl. Our childish grins and laughter knocked on all the doors of our neighbors and they too shared in our happiness. To regress back to when things were calmer, time endless, and the burdens of adulthood was not yet ours to bear is all I want. I hope I never become a gambler because, what I exchanged for a short time of fun was clearly not worth it. It would seem that I'm incapable of weighing out what's most important to me until I've already lost it.

I don't think we can ever be together again.