An Open Letter To The One That Never Was

I saw you before I met you, ironically I don’t even remember where. I didn’t pay much attention. Back then I had no idea the importance you would come to have in my life. I didn’t even like you the first time I met you. Funny, right? I thought you were just another straw in the haystack of players I was bound to meet throughout the game.

I didn’t expect to grow close to you. I didn’t expect to become friends, best friends. Not the kind of friend you necessarily tell everything to, but the kind of friend you just know is always there if you need them. It was unspoken, unofficial, but valid. We knew the basis was there. And that was enough.

Until it wasn’t. Glances turned longing and touches started to linger. I think about it now and I can’t pinpoint when it started. Maybe it was always there. Maybe it was something that just existed, and we were too oblivious to recognize it. I didn’t know how to handle it at the time. Everything was so new. Everyone was so new. We were treading through unknown waters surrounded by new people and places and experiences and we were struggling to stay afloat, grasping at straws to keep our heads above water.

I wanted a coast guard that would take me back to shore. You wanted a life vest to keep you floating, to expand your explorations into new and thrilling waters. You were tired of living on solid land. I wasn’t ready to venture out into the open ocean.

And then I was…but the ship had sailed. Or had it? Even now, I’m never sure if I missed my mark, or if there was ever any mark to miss at all. I grew used to the idea of being friends – and the best of friends, the type that’s always there for each other, the type that can go weeks, months, without speaking and pick up right where they left off.

The idea lingers of what could’ve been, but I learned how to lock it away. It’s better that way, to have it safely locked in a foolproof safe where it can remain as a distant what if, one we can look back on with teasing fondness rather than regret. But every time that seemingly unbreakable lock clicks shut, an unknown key emerges and cracks it open for the world to see. It’s not foolproof. There’s nothing safe about it.

It’s Pandora’s box. Every time it opens I wish I didn’t have it. Every time it shuts I think I’ve finally figured out how to contain it. And it’s this infinite cycle that seems pent on dragging me along for its endless ride, a vortex that sucks me back in just when I think I’ve reached the horizon. Maybe it’s just one of those things. Maybe it doesn’t matter how right it feels. Maybe it's just not meant to be.