Dear You,
It seems like only yesterday that we were together, running around the neighborhood, going from your house to mine and back, taking the world by storm. We saw each other more often than we saw our own family members; your brothers became my brothers, your mother became my mother and your family became mine. Your life became mine. At that age, it was so easy to be best friends.
From fourth grade on, we were inseparable. We were two peas in the proverbial pod, swapping clothes, swapping period stories—you were the first person I told when I got mine in sixth grade—swapping everything because there was nothing we kept from each other. We were young, restless, quirky, nerdy, but also strong, loving and open. There was nothing standing in our way. The world was ours.
But happiness like that can't last forever. And neither did we.
From the moment we stepped foot in those high school halls sophomore year, we were doomed. We were doomed to end the days of sleepovers, end the shopping trips, the camping trips, end the days of talking about boys and playing "make believe." We were doomed to end.
It kills me that I never saw this coming. It kills me that we never stood a chance. It kills me that it's all my fault we ended.
As cliche as it can be, we ended because I was jealous of your relationship. I was heartbroken that this boy who I had liked (and maybe even loved) for almost four years had picked you over me. I was angry that you started dating him knowing how much I liked him—and I lashed out. I let my anger and my depression get the best of me, and I very publicly made my feelings clear. I remember seeing your face afterwards, tears streaming down your face, and I just sat there with my music in, pretending I didn't see because now, now you felt the same hurt I had been feeling for the past few months. Now, you felt the betrayal.
What I didn't take into account was how much I hurt you.
From that night on, our friendship would never be the same. Eventually you forgave me and we began talking again, but it was forced and uncomfortable. We never hung out just us because we had nothing to talk about anymore. We grew apart, and over that summer we stopped talking. You had him to go to and spend time with, and I, well, I had isolated the only person I really wanted to be with. I lost you both that summer and it killed me.
For the next two years, we never spoke. We barely saw each other in the hallway and never had classes together because our pursuits were complete opposites; you were artistic and social while I was book smart and kept to myself. Encounters in the hall amounted to bumping into each other, whether it be on purpose or not.
That's what our friendship came to.
It's been four years since that fateful sophomore year, and I still think about you every once in awhile. I catch myself thinking about what could've been if we were still friends. I think about how differently my life would be now if we were still friends. Would I still have the same friends I do now? would I still be the same person, have the same memories, or would I be someone so foreign to me?
I have a poster hanging in my room that you made me when we were probably freshman. It's still hanging there, right next to my bed, reminding me of how I broke the promise of the poster, how I'm the reason that we aren't going to be friends "4 life." I still have things from our old art classes, pictures of us on spring breaks and birthday parties, I still have old cards and gifts that you gave me, and I cherish them.
They remind me of what I did, of who I was, and how my life has changed.
But most importantly, they remind me of you.
