I only talked to you once. Only once. I thought I'd be introduced to you, and then I'd go on my way, and you'd go on yours. I was wrong, I guess. Because then, you started following me.

It's frightening. You put me on a high pedestal, where no one else could reach, and proclaimed me yours. And you shut me away from everyone else. You caged me in these bars of iron. I was your friend you said, I was your inspiration. I was your goddess. No one else could touch, only you.

And I stood, naive and slightly scared, clothed in white, with the halo you imagined on my head. Trying to fall, because I didn't have angel wings.

You were obsessed with a stranger, and I was frightened by one. Because that's what you are; a stranger. An acquaintance of an idle conversation, nothing more and nothing less, but suddenly, you took me and placed me in your stars. I burned bright: the center of your universe. And I wondered why.

Why? Can you tell me why? Why you call me "an old friend" when you don't know me? Why do you claim to understand me, if you've never really listened to me? Why? And when I shy away, you accuse me of things. I'm just a girl, slightly uncertain, and very innocent. I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready for you.

I don't want to be your goddess. I don't want to be your standing idol. Your inspiration, soul mate, whatever you'd like to call it. I'm not so sure I even want to be your friend. I don't know anymore, really. You over dramatized things. You scared me. You frightened me with your claims of friendship, and trust. There are others. Please don't pick me. My hand isn't raised. I didn't volunteer.

I don't know you. You're just another stranger in my world, smiling a little too hard to get my attention.

Yours,

Diana