I always considered you my best friend. From first grade till seventh you sat right next to me on the bus ride from school. Made a little group, a society where the four of us, me the only girl, made our own little language, planned cocktail parties and played games on the long bumpy ride back home when we were 11 years olds. We played soccer together at lunch and told each other tales and stories in the afternoon. For me, the others were just background noise, I only saw you. For me, it was you and me against the world. Your newfound passion was something I adopted as my own and disregarded when I noticed you had no interest in it anymore. In 5th and 6th grade, you meant the most to me in my little life.
In seventh grade, you changed busses and I saw less of you. I remember the day when I realized you were gone. After school I sat in the bus anxiously looking at the car door, to see you enter again, but I caught sight of you through the window as you passed by, and you didn't look back. We'd talk once in a while, but I was okay. It wasn't that much of a loss. On the bus, there was me and one other friend, the original two members of our little club surviving. I was struggling to find a clique of girls I could fit into while being myself, and it was tough, but you weren't as crucial to me then. The next year, in 8th grade, I was just as lost. Hanging out with different people day after day waiting to be a part of something. This desperation grew as I too was forced to change busses. The original members of our group separated. I think it was at this time when I was utterly alone and I hated not truly belonging anywhere, that I began to idealize the past: our little group, lunchtimes spent with exhilarating soccer matches, the freedom of being alone or with the boys and not give a damn ... but most of all I idealized you. You encompassed all these longings because each of these things is somehow associated with you. I made up songs, daydreamed and wished to glance at you as I saw you down the halls. Ninth grade is when it got tough, I tried playing matchmaker to get closer to you and you set your eyes on one of my friends. I was happy to oblige. Do you remember when you asked me what to get her on her birthday, and I told you, that she liked art so get her a big ass art notebook? You did, and I saw that you drew on the first page for her, but my birthday was literally the very next day, and I doubt that you even knew it then. It was indeed heartbreaking for me to see that. I hated the jealousy I felt and my incapability to move on, believe me, I tried so hard to move on. I had to come to terms with some facts, I got hints here and there that you just didn't remember me as I remembered you. The last straw was when my bus broke down, and I had to go on your bus. I came in early, sat by the window and waited for you to come and sit next to me, excited that this might feel, become like those "good old days" but you didn't even muster a greeting. Disappointed and dejected, I arrived at the home and vowed to get over you no matter what. I didn't.
That summer I moved. It was unexpected, unplanned, but I left my old life. That summer, slowly, in the beginning, we talked too and got in touch through texting like never before, every day we talked and shared ideas and I loved it. I go to know you! The new you finally after 3 years and you were mature-er, had a wonderful sense of humor and a passion for music. You were still talking to my friend, not quite her boyfriend yet, but getting there. As I knew that I wasn't returning and that my feelings for you would probably die out soon I botched my confession. "Don't laugh or take this the other way, but I used to have a big crush on you". This was September 14, 2015. We laughed it off, changed topics and never mentioned it again, it was a relief then, but not now. Being in a completely different setting: an entirely different continent should have done the trick to right? As a sophomore, once again utterly alone, friendless and misunderstood, I held on to my memories and idealized you. You embodied my life back home, the connection with others I desired. I waited desperately for summer to come because that's when you could have your phone back from your mom and that's when we could talk! And so I waited, I noticed the 14ths of the months and thought, "Its been 5 months since I told him". I was longing to connect with you once more. Summer 2016 came and we talked more, more often, more intimately, more freely! It was exhilarating at times. When we didn't talk, I remembered what we said to each other and smiled.
Summer 2017 also came, but it was different. I expected you to text first, I hoped you would and so I waited, nervous. I always initiated the talk, this time would you? You didn't. Disappointed, but more desperate to hear back from you I finally reached to you in August out and you responded. You were different, I could sense it. We talked less, and like your passion for writing, music was gone and replaced by something else. We still talked and I valued that. Senior Year began and Hallelujah your mom let you have your phone back! It was exciting to talk to you once in a while and not wait three seasons to do so. We grew closer like the previous summers and I was happy. I got good news too: I would be visiting soon. It was clear that you too were excited and made me promise to tell you the exact date. We had indeed grown close, Spring 2018 we met.
When we, the original three club members of the bus finally met, it was something else. Those 5 hours where we talked, watched a film and goofed off I was on cloud nine, until you said, "I forgot how what you looked like" It was quite a slap to the face. I don't even remember the context, but it hurt. You haunted my dreams, vividly while my face was a blur you struggled to recall. In those 5 weeks, we met four or five times, more often than I had met my other friends. Frankly, I wasn't quite as eager to meet anyone else. With another member of our little club, I went to your house and got to know you more. You were the highlight of this entire ordeal. My other friends were just noise and it was all about you.
Before I came, you told me that you had a girlfriend and I probably knew her because we were in the same grade. I adjusted my expectations and convinced my self that I was just excited to see a best friend and had no expectations whatsoever. Your girlfriend was so beautiful, mature, she had kind eyes and was truly wholesome. I didn't know how exclusive you were until I asked you about the ring you both wore. I was happy truly happy for you, or as anyone in love with you could be. Do you remember that rainy day when you had just come back from school? You had that blue and white uniform on and you were sitting in my living room. It was the two of us and I remember thinking that we were closer now like never before. Our conversations shifted from one topic to the next and you started telling me all about her. How you sat next to her in class for two years, how much you guys had in common, how you couldn't stop thinking about her, how you were nervous when you asked her to go with you to prom, how you confessed your feelings in the middle of class, and how she cried tears of joy as you did. I listened attentively, nodding at the right times, my eyes getting a bit twitchy. I kept thinking, "you fucking idiot". As soon as you left, I laughed a bitter laugh, shook my head and thought, okay, this could be the nail in the coffin to stop that unhealthy longing I feel for you. It should have been, but it wasn't, because I'm a fucking idiot.
During my last day, you were there until it was time for me to leave to go to the airport. The electricity was out at my house, and we sat in the candlelight, talking, panning. "I better be Godmother of you guys have a baby," I told you and we talked and talked, and ate and drank, and promised to meet again sometime in the future, whenever that is. At the door of my house, we hugged, smiled at each other, and you left. It was dark but I watched you until you turned the corner. You were my best friend I thought! That's enough for me. I was content.
Here I am, in the fall of 2019, of age, second-year university student, incapable of moving on... longing for the past, and more. We have lost touch. We talk, but it takes you weeks to respond to my messages, and when I reply back quickly, it still takes weeks for you. When we talk, I wish we weren't talking, and when we don't talk, I wish to reach out, desperate for that previous connection we had. Our bomb, rapid talks, conversations, and discussions, are no more. I miss them. I miss you. I miss you so much, your smile, your brown eyes, your newly developed deep voice. I miss you, our closeness, our friendship.
Obviously, it's past time I moved on. I've been pointlessly idealizing you since I was 9. I wish I told you how I felt, truthfully on Sep/14/15. What if I typed "I Love You"Instead? You would have rejected me, and I would have moved on. We most certainly would have talked less, that's for sure and it would have been helpful. If I confess now there is too much to lose! What am I doing with my life, why do I torture myself thinking of something that will never be? Why am I wasting my time writing this letter I will never send? What am I waiting for? Why can't I just move on? Do I need to confess? Tell you the entire truth to make things awkward enough that we never talk? Is that what it takes? Do I have to lose you as a friend in order to get over you even if only you are the only friend from home I'm in contact with? This ordeal is ridiculous, I KNOW! I know how stupid it is and sometimes it feels like the harder I try to let go, the harder it is to forget you.
It hurts, and I don't want to feel this pain anymore. If confessing and losing you, my friend, my oldest friend, my soccer buddy, my only best friend means a shot at normalcy; then I will take it. I have to. Isn't it my only choice? Haven't I already tried everything to move on? I turn 19 pretty soon if we talk then, if I am strong enough if I'm not afraid, perhaps I will let you know how I feel. For my own sake. Some part of me will always love you. That pre-teen short you that loved soccer and music, the second-grader with an imaginative mind brilliant at storytelling, the awesome 16-year-old music maker, the 17-year-old deep-voiced businessman kinda guy, the artistic 19-year-old, the humorous 15-year-old with a knack for finding the best content on youtube. Thank you for being my friend, for listening, for filling my childhood with great moments, for being with me in the bus, for making 5th and 6th grade in many ways the best years of these almost 19 years. Thank you for being my friend. We lost touch, I know, its normal! I've lost touch with just about everyone from back home, but it's my unusual holding on that's causing me pain, I have to let you go. I have to grow the fuck up and look ahead instead of looking back.
I love you, but I don't want to anymore.
Your friend,
Wistful_fool
Submitted November 10, 2019 at 12:40AM by Wistful_fool https://ift.tt/2p8QWzC
No comments:
Post a Comment