Letter to Elise

Rain drop rhythms pouring over photographs of memories where you once made me smile. Matching school outfits and playing Disney movies. You were always Jasmine, Cinderella, Pocahontas. I was always Rajar, the mice, Meeko. Or the Prince. Yo were my princess after all. I didn't mind the hand holding and the singing A Whole New Woooooooooorld. I pretended to pretend to want to kiss you. We both knew it wouldn't last. Don't try to bring up the past. Don't try to bring me back to the big canopy bed in that old house by the river. Rambo can't come up on the bed anymore. Rambo died. And you weren't there. You left me back then for Aeropostle clad boys and girls with dye jobs. I never wanted to leave, but eyeliner and Julian Whitney called me closer. With every new friend cloaked in blues, blacks, and plaids, you looked at me less. That photo album you have doesn't show the abandonment, the ridicule. Pictures are taken, smiles are faked.
My princess died in 8th grade, when you chose the apple over your drawf.