But of course that was a different you. Not the you I see somedays in the halls, not the you I see with your new friends that are different from me. I remember a different you. A freer you. I remember a you that caked their face in mud and not mascara. I remember a you that would play make believe and wasn't afraid to tell people that. I remember laughing with you, I remember watching the sky, I remember being happy and free. Now you've changed. I've changed too.
It's not like you hate me now. It's not like I hate you now. We're just not friends. I smile at you in the halls, and so do you. But only if we make eye contact. I don't really know what to think about you anymore. I don't think I'm a new me. Just a more evolved, same me. And you're not a different you, just a new one.
So if your'e alone you can sit at my table, and if I'm bored I can make awkward conversation, but it's not like the other days. The days when I didn't care about what other people thought, and you only cared a little. Now I care a touch, enough to keep my mouth shut when I should, and you care a lot.
I knew you once, but not anymore. Not anymore, and probably never again. There are days when I'm outside with my friends now, and we'll have fun. They just threw mud at me, and it's smeared on my face.
I know that somewhere both far and close, you and your friends are caking your faces in overpriced powder, trying to become somebody that I don't want to be.
I knew you once, not anymore. I hope you're happy. I really do. I'm glad I knew you once. Thanks for every hour you put up with me. Thanks for the giggles, the snickers, the cuts from falling, the days we walked eachother home. Thanks for the inside jokes, the pointless games, and the days of rain-soaked shirts.
I knew you once.
I don't know you now.