Too Weird to Live, Too Rare to Die!

The newest album by my favorite band in 2013. 

In 2013 I was in Algebra 1 for the second time around. A sophomore in a freshman class, the only sophomore too I think.

One of my favorite people was in that class. We shared a smile nearly every day, but we didn’t talk or socialize every day.

Yet, she was one of my favorite people.

I always wanted to talk to her more, but I never felt cool enough in high school to talk to her around her other friends — she knew me from a middle school different than the ones she and her peers went to. 

Maybe not too weird to live, I’d think, but too weird for a social life in algebra class. 

When I was in algebra my first go around, I had it with my best friend at the time. It was the only class we had together and she made a terrible class a little more tolerable. But as much as I wanted school to keep adding us together, life subtracted us when she moved away to a different state the summer before 10th grade. I didn’t feel weird around her, and if I did, at least we were weird together. 

I wasn’t happy I failed freshman math; I had always struggled with math, and I don’t think having a bad teacher made it any easier. 

The only recognizable face I saw in my round two of algebra 1 was the face of one of my favorite people. I always thought very highly of her. Sometimes she’d just sit at her desk with her head down, sometimes she’d talk with friends. Almost every time I saw her she’d acknowledge my existence but we were acquaintances then. I don’t know if she liked the music I did, but there was always an energy about her that if she were a song, she’d be a rhythm you just can’t stop listening to. And if you do stop or take a break from that song, you’ll probably just try to find the similarities of it in any new song you stumble across. I think sometimes I’d swallow my anxiety of not knowing anyone else around me and I’d walk up to her after class and see how she’s doing. Looking back now, I wish I would’ve tried more to befriend her. It just seemed like while her body was here, her mind was in a different world, one I couldn’t get a ticket to. Not even a one way ticket. I always thought of her though and hoped that if her mind was elsewhere, eventually she’d make it back to earth, as shitty as this place is. 

Death of a Bachelor: 2016.

They’re not my favorite band anymore, but one I still listen to.. 

I’ve since moved to a different town and enrolled in a different school now since their 2013 album. I don’t talk much to one of my favorite people, but I like their posts on Facebook and comment from time to time. I wonder if she ever thinks about me. If maybe I’m one of her favorite people, or have the potential to be, even being a couple hours away. I’m glad high school was done for me in 2016, she still has one more year to go. I’m rooting for her in the background, cheering her on and hoping for the best outcome, not knowing what her home life is like or where her mind is at most of the time. Someone who was as rare as she is, shouldn’t have had to grow up as fast as she did. She should’ve been eased into life and taken baby steps on her own, not be forced to run before she can even jog. 

It wasn’t until 2020 that we’d start talking again. Actually talking. Not just friendly smiles in the classroom. She’d just recently gotten out of a small room with a bed and toilet in the same room, no closet for her own clothes. It wasn’t a fun time to spend there, but she had lots of stories. She was an open book and wasn’t ashamed of sharing her experiences or things she’d done and how her time was spent the past year. I’d tell her she could’ve written a book just with all her stories, and even if she saw herself as just a sad story, I always saw hope in her. A sad story with potential for a happy ending. I’ve never met someone so alive who at the same time didn’t always want to wake up the next day. 

The next couple years were a whirlwind. For a little while I was a part of her beautiful chaos. She was a beacon of sunshine on a cloudy day, a laugh when you wanted to cry, a hug without even asking. She could also be moody, irritable, impatient, impulsive, and at times I did have to make some boundaries. It wasn’t because I wanted to see her less or didn’t want to help her, but we were reaching a level of codependency in our friendship that wasn’t great for either of us. It was a thin line of am I really helping or just enabling. I always just wanted to help her and be someone she could rely on, good or bad times. 

At the end of the day, she was my best friend. My platonic soulmate if I ever had one. She was the first friend I’d held hands with while walking through Walmart, and she was the first and only friend to sleepover at the duplex I’ve currently been living in since 2019. I don’t know if she ever slept much though unfortunately, sleep and her often had a tricky relationship. She was usually the last one to sleep and the first one up. We should’ve gone to breakfast on one of the mornings after a sleepover, we never did. There’s many things I wish we could’ve done now that it’s no longer an option other than bringing her with me along in my heart and when I reflect back on our memories. I guess I didn’t worry about not doing such big things all the time because I never thought time was something we’d lose. 

I don’t really know how this mini poem ends. It doesn’t have a happy ending, the way I always felt when we’d be together. Even if the ending wasn’t happy, I’d like to think all the moments in between made up for our adventures cut short. 

The last time I’d see my favorite person was the day before Thanksgiving 2022. She bought a bottle of whiskey and I watched her take swigs of it, and I’d comment about how I can’t handle liquor that hard because I need it to taste good. I don’t think she cared if it tasted good, not that night. She also cooked a turkey leg that we shared and brussel sprouts. Happy Thanksgiving. We hugged goodbye when I left and she said she loved me, and I said I loved her. If I knew that was going to be my last time seeing her instead of just the last time in a while, I would’ve held her longer. I would’ve told her all the things I loved about her, how grateful I was for our friendship and how much we’ve grown together since algebra 1. I would’ve asked her to make sure to send me signs that she’s still near even after she’s gone, and I would’ve taken a shot of whiskey with her to look back and say that was something I did. I miss her so much. She was better than any of the Panic! At The Disco albums combined, or any music for that matter. She herself was a bittersweet song, a sad comfort movie, a favorite place to visit. And I don’t know if I can ever stop writing about her. So maybe I’ll end now. There’s no preparation for losing someone you love, no good way to say goodbye. There isn’t a good way to end this writing piece other than just stopping. I miss you. 

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