Alternate language.

Today I finally started to understand the language you live by.
I decoded your dictionary and found this:
Sad means manipulable.
Love means lust.
Confused means take advantage.
Trust means convenience.
I am stuck in this in between.
See now, at 1:27 PM, I would typically be riding in your passenger seat with your hand on my thigh.
So to me it feels natural that I should be talking to you, my thumbs long to type your name out.
But what to say?
Hi.
Hello.
I love you.
I hate you.
I miss you.
Fuck you.
Can we be friends now?
Do I want to be friends?
Do I even want to be anywhere near you?
Are my organs turning inside because they can't stand to be in the same vicinity as yours?
Do they crave for the school to peel into two and spread like the red sea so I can be farther from you?
Because I have never felt farther from you.
I have never been so confused by you.
See to me, you are the epitome of a best friend.
You are husband material, you are sloppy watermelon juice laughter, sky blue hellos, soccer mom support, compassion so true as crimson as blood on a rose.
But you are beer bottle screams, you are headboard punches, you are thunderstorms of shame and pain.
You loved me like America loved Marilyn.
You put my judgment of my own self worth under a magnifying glass and told the gremlins in my mind "Stop. Look at yourself, you're being ridiculous. You are remarkable."
You took my purity and innocence on midnight neighborhood adventures and showed them the crooks of church parking lots and Texas highways.
You were the reason I locked up metal and cut my nails and sewed my lips together to conceal my teeth to flesh.
You raised hell for a kiss goodnight or blue hearted tied words or fingertip grazes.
Now, here we are.
I lie here. Pissed. Defenseless. Hurt. Confused. Frustrated beyond belief.
I am begging the Universe to send nothings and somethings and everythings to your tall, lengthy, misunderstood and misguided self, just to curl the ends of your mouth and dry your eyes and ice your wrists.
I am praying to some being who I don't even know exists to protect your fragile, cracked, wary heart.
My kidney jumps everytime my phone vibrates and my eyes are torn between hope for and against your elongated name to appear.
I have changed your picture.
I have changed your tone.
I have changed the music you used to sing to me of bruises and lines.
My eyes share a similar confusion to that of my heart.
Because to be honest, I don't know who the fucking love of my life is.
I don't know who you are.
Because all I see is a contradictory coward who lied to himself and me out of panic.
All I see is a man who made up his mind and still played bridge with my body as his deck of cards.
All I see is an unfamiliar and foreign figure trying to hold my hands after telling me that I made him unhealthy for two tears.
Now how the fuck am I ever supposed to try to love someone ever again with that fear in my mind?
Is this true? Because even through your anger coated esophagus apologies and denial I still find some honesty seeping from your words.
Am I truly that toxic?
I am so sorry I was given the gift of misery.
I am so sorry that anxiety attacks have became a regular aspect of my week.
I am so sorry I fell broken hearted by the man who gave me his genes and the person mimicking my movements in the mirror.
I am so sorry that my consistent seek for your approval and surprising gestures and little tries just to make you chuckle were over consumed by the pace of my breath or the scars on my ankles.
But I tried. I worked. I loved. I did absolutely everything I fucking could to be the light of your life and the wonder woman of your own pristine fucked up paradise.
So I don't know.
I don't know where to go from here. I don't know whether to be pissed or get over the fact that after three years I only got one birthday present, that you never sized my promise ring, that you broke your word, your promise, your swears made upon the lightening in my stormy night sky.
I don't know whether to be pissed at you or myself that I feel grimy, ashamed, dirty with my own body because of tainted words and cameras and jaws.
I don't know whether to scream or cry because you broke my heart and left me a wreck and you still texted me seeking my comfort when I am exploding or that you apologized that I didn't change your mind when I never asked to see your name, read in your voice, cry for your pain, or in any form try to change you mind.
Damage is done.
But it is so hard to think about losing you.
I am looking forward to a friendship of complications that will always be us but I don't know how to be your friend, I don't know how to start, and I don't know whether to wait around for you to figure out who you are or adjust to this new selfish, hypocritical, weakling for my best friend.
Still, as I sit here translating English to your dictionary, I wonder, what does the word friend mean to you?
Because to me all it means is
Guarded.
Scared.
And confused.