To You

Dear I,

You and I don’t exist in the same world anymore. The most we get is colliding our boundaries on a social networking site, and even then, your life is so distant, so far removed from mine that it’s hard to believe that once we were in the same book, on the same page, even. You and I were last five messages on each other’s phones, and now for whatever reasons, I don’t even think I look at your number anymore.

Even though you have fallen to the wayside, in the television show of my life, you are no longer “featured guest”, I still have occasion to look at what you’re doing and where you’re going. Sometimes, I marvel at the smallness and insularity of our worlds, someone might mention your name to me, in passing, and I pause for a second, just to think about life the way it used to be. We give a lot of thought to lovers—ex and present—but we don’t think that much about friends, especially the ones that used to be.

For the most part, the death of our friendship seemed inevitable. Perhaps it was the wrong choices, perhaps it was just geography, but you, who used to be part of the fibre of my everyday life, have been patched over. Sometimes when I hear a song you used to love, or tell a story that you were a part of, I feel a pang of longing. Not longing for who you are now, in much the same way that I don’t think you give a thought to who I am now, but for who we were then. It’s hard to exist for 24 years without making an equal share of friends and enemies, and while I do think I am blessed in my friendships, having had some for over ten years, I know that it’s not possible to be friends with everyone, all the time.

Sometimes, you might have wronged me, at least in my head. That’s when I feel an absurd sense of proving to you how much better off I am. Look, look at me, look at my photos, look at my cheery status updates, look at my life, I don’t miss you, not one teeny tiny bit.

But the fact of the matter is, we’re getting older, old friend. I’m edging towards my mid-twenties (and sometimes, so are you). Did you ever imagine that we could be thirty? Did you ever imagine that we’d be here and not with each other? And so I realize, that like most things in life, I have to let you go. It’s a small, small world, and we might bump into each other someday—either at your local coffee shop or at mine. But let’s not play the nothing happened charade. Let’s acknowledge each other, either with a nod or a smile, and let’s live our lives, knowing that the other person existed, and that we were, at one point, richer for it.

With fondness,

S