Don't you worry 'bout it raggedy bitch

As I lay here tonight, I think to myself

“It’s been 5 months today that you stopped talking to me. Again. Guess I really wasn’t the ‘unforgettable best friend’ that everybody made me out to be to make me feel better.”

And then yeah, I wonder

why would you want to talk to me? Why would anybody? 

I’ll run lines with you in my mind, pretend we’re still here, brothers in bond. Bitching about whatever. Talking about girls.
It’s weird how absolutely ordinary our friendship was but for some reason it caught flame.

I dunno man, I mean really. Could you answer it if I asked? Why am I worth talking to?
Am I?

No.

Ellery would say, “don’t sell yourself short, Andrew,” which, I think is her way of saying, “Hey, I still love you too. You’re not so bad.”
but, I’m not selling myself short, not to anybody.
I’m selling myself at the exact value that I have

which is nothing.

Clearly
it is nothing, because if I were more, there’d have been more.

It wouldn’t have been me scrabbling, blind, for the broken pieces of shrapnel from an explosion I sparked while everybody else watched me, pitying. It would have been you and me against the world. 

But it isn’t, because I don’t deserve it. I never did. I never will.

I was a fish caught by a bird, fooled into thinking I could fly.