the end of friends (conceptual freewrite)

Please i would do anything if only to call up a memory of you or a memory of me hurting not because  i want anyone to think of me that way, hurt, not because i want anyone to feel bad, no, only for anyone to know that i hurt, too, just like you, and that the lies do that, grey skies do that, and all the plans that fell through a black hole back through me back through you --- please i am already crying on a deserted ground when the kids are off for summer, there are many good memories and games to play and no one is waiting for a swing or a push, i can push myself and push myself around, too, i am not you but you can understand, can't you? you can remember the way i treated you before you pushed my limits --- thanks i loved you so and go on loving, because i remembered how i could and it was so good, to really care and truthfully the dare was one i did take, otherwise how could i die by the venom in a few words roughly strangling, a few thoughts issued like blankets in the winter and then i'm smothered beneath them, devastated by the heat, and wondering where this darkness came from how the wind came about so sudden --- thanks i will find my way back to light, out of irons, cautiously and quickly like i did when i was a child coming home late after supper when i wasn't allowed out but went out anyway because i cannot be tethered well, even if it was for the best, thanks, i will find my way slowly closing the door behind me, so carefully tiptoeing up the creaking wooden uncovered stairs --- even though i did some kinda wrong by you, i only did what i had to do, because i am who i am and make no excuses for myself, i have my energy to run and to run me over the fields and city streets, i am replete in my heart with the love that got me in this bind to begin with, for were it not for loving me for loving you, there would be nothing you would do --- no terrible lies, no striking out, no leaving no way out for me, no ladies and gentleman, this is the end of the show you must go, no drawing of heavy curtains behind which the hurt may be hidden, no accusations that this was what i paid for, no terrible, no lies, no whites of recidivist eyes.