A voice from the past
Dear you,
I'm not writing your name, yet I can't entirely pick a reason as to why not. Part of me wants it to be so no one knows this is about you, but I've written on here about you before, so I suppose it wouldn't be that hard to figure it out. And people who know me in real life, people who I either was or still am friends with, who were our mutual friends even though I was always (more than) slightly convinced they were simply your friends who merely tolerated me, they'll know. It sounds so dumb to say, I know, but I was surprised when I remained friends with some of them after we fell apart. It was my fault. It must have been, because the same thing happened at Potsdam with a different guy. No, not the same. Not exactly. I never kissed you. And I was never afraid of him. Even after he and I fell apart, I never suddenly couldn't breathe because I thought I saw him. He was never the one I was hiding from in my nightmares. And he never, ever made me feel like I wasn't good enough. I felt so safe with him. So completely safe in a way I can't remember ever feeling with you. I trusted him and my walls came down around him, whereas with you... I trusted you too, but not as much as him. I don't think I ever completely let my guard down around you, but there were times when it came close. I called you my best friend, but I don't think I truly understood the meaning of those words before my friendship with him.
But it turns out that none of that matters because things fell apart with him too, and the common denominator there is me, so logically...
But that isn't what this is about. I was cleaning my room the other day, which might surprise you. Or maybe it wouldn't. There was too much stuff in too small of a space. It was stressing me out, and that you might have been able to guess. We can't have been friends for the year and a half we were without that coming up at least once (or a dozen, but who's counting?) times. While I was cleaning, I found a small box with some random things in it. A can of silly string. A birthday card from Cecilia. Five bouncy-balls, probably from the Chinese buffet. A bracelet from Cecilia. A note from her, telling me that we're always going to be best friends forever... Anote letter from you.
It wasn't long, that letter - just a single page. I read it once, quickly, then once more, much more slowly the second time. I thought I'd forgotten the sound of your voice - it's been, I think, three and a half years or so now - but I swear I could hear you as clearly as if you were standing behind me, reading it out loud, and my eyes filled up with tears as I remembered the good times. One in the morning trips to walmart. Driving around aimlessly, me in the passenger seat, with control over the radio. All the time we spent making mix CDs for your car, and jamming to Party In The USA on repeat. Seeing Connie Talbot in concert. Twice. Borrowing your Journey CD so I could listen to the music you liked. And, I hate to admit this, but... I missed you. I sat there on my bedroom floor and read how I was the "kindest and gentlest soul that [you'd] ever met" and how I was perfect and not to let anyone ever try to change that and not to ever change myself for anyone else. I sat there and read your letter and missed you. I missed the good times and I missed hugging you and I missed the way you made me laugh. For a few minutes, I sat there and missed everything about you.
It's been so long since I'd last thought of you. Why did I even keep that letter? Why didn't I throw it out when I got rid of anything else that reminded me of you? ...Do I still randomly creep into your thoughts as well? Are there songs that remind you of me? Because, me, I can't listen to Party In The USA or anything by Journey without thinking of you. Don't get me wrong, I still listen to them because I like them, and I won't let your memory take that away from me. The song says that for "one desperate moment there, he crept back in her memory," but it's wrong. It's more than one moment. Because every time I forget enough, there's something else to remind me. A song lyric. A jacket that looks like the one you wore. Someone with the same first name as you because, god, it's such a popular one.
I forgot about you for long enough that I almost, almost forgot why I needed to. And that's why I couldn't let myself miss you. I tore that letter up into pieces so small that it would never be able to be put back together. And I threw it away. Because as much as parts of me may want to, I can't let myself be friends with you again. I can't let you back in. And I'm sorry. I don't know if I'm sorry for you or for myself, but I am. I keep hoping that writing about you might be what it takes formy brain my heart to let go of you. Maybe someday it'll work.
I'm not writing your name, yet I can't entirely pick a reason as to why not. Part of me wants it to be so no one knows this is about you, but I've written on here about you before, so I suppose it wouldn't be that hard to figure it out. And people who know me in real life, people who I either was or still am friends with, who were our mutual friends even though I was always (more than) slightly convinced they were simply your friends who merely tolerated me, they'll know. It sounds so dumb to say, I know, but I was surprised when I remained friends with some of them after we fell apart. It was my fault. It must have been, because the same thing happened at Potsdam with a different guy. No, not the same. Not exactly. I never kissed you. And I was never afraid of him. Even after he and I fell apart, I never suddenly couldn't breathe because I thought I saw him. He was never the one I was hiding from in my nightmares. And he never, ever made me feel like I wasn't good enough. I felt so safe with him. So completely safe in a way I can't remember ever feeling with you. I trusted him and my walls came down around him, whereas with you... I trusted you too, but not as much as him. I don't think I ever completely let my guard down around you, but there were times when it came close. I called you my best friend, but I don't think I truly understood the meaning of those words before my friendship with him.
But it turns out that none of that matters because things fell apart with him too, and the common denominator there is me, so logically...
But that isn't what this is about. I was cleaning my room the other day, which might surprise you. Or maybe it wouldn't. There was too much stuff in too small of a space. It was stressing me out, and that you might have been able to guess. We can't have been friends for the year and a half we were without that coming up at least once (or a dozen, but who's counting?) times. While I was cleaning, I found a small box with some random things in it. A can of silly string. A birthday card from Cecilia. Five bouncy-balls, probably from the Chinese buffet. A bracelet from Cecilia. A note from her, telling me that we're always going to be best friends forever... A
It wasn't long, that letter - just a single page. I read it once, quickly, then once more, much more slowly the second time. I thought I'd forgotten the sound of your voice - it's been, I think, three and a half years or so now - but I swear I could hear you as clearly as if you were standing behind me, reading it out loud, and my eyes filled up with tears as I remembered the good times. One in the morning trips to walmart. Driving around aimlessly, me in the passenger seat, with control over the radio. All the time we spent making mix CDs for your car, and jamming to Party In The USA on repeat. Seeing Connie Talbot in concert. Twice. Borrowing your Journey CD so I could listen to the music you liked. And, I hate to admit this, but... I missed you. I sat there on my bedroom floor and read how I was the "kindest and gentlest soul that [you'd] ever met" and how I was perfect and not to let anyone ever try to change that and not to ever change myself for anyone else. I sat there and read your letter and missed you. I missed the good times and I missed hugging you and I missed the way you made me laugh. For a few minutes, I sat there and missed everything about you.
It's been so long since I'd last thought of you. Why did I even keep that letter? Why didn't I throw it out when I got rid of anything else that reminded me of you? ...Do I still randomly creep into your thoughts as well? Are there songs that remind you of me? Because, me, I can't listen to Party In The USA or anything by Journey without thinking of you. Don't get me wrong, I still listen to them because I like them, and I won't let your memory take that away from me. The song says that for "one desperate moment there, he crept back in her memory," but it's wrong. It's more than one moment. Because every time I forget enough, there's something else to remind me. A song lyric. A jacket that looks like the one you wore. Someone with the same first name as you because, god, it's such a popular one.
I forgot about you for long enough that I almost, almost forgot why I needed to. And that's why I couldn't let myself miss you. I tore that letter up into pieces so small that it would never be able to be put back together. And I threw it away. Because as much as parts of me may want to, I can't let myself be friends with you again. I can't let you back in. And I'm sorry. I don't know if I'm sorry for you or for myself, but I am. I keep hoping that writing about you might be what it takes for
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