In my head, I have already written you a whole book, telling you in a very passive-aggressive way how much I really don’t miss you. And another one in which I tell you, how much I do miss you. How much I wish everything could be different and we could still be friends. But that’s not how life works. At least not mine.
The truth of course is, that I do miss you. Not every day but every now and then and every time I do, I think of all the things I want to say to you and create another page in the books I won’t write. Why am I not just writing them to you? Because there is no point in it. Whatever your answer will be, I will end up getting hurt by it. Because whatever comes next can never be what it used to be. And that is the best-case scenario. The worst case is that you just don’t care anymore and I am not sure if can handle that.
So, there you have the passive-aggressive side speaking. The one accusing you that you lied to me when you said we will stay friends. The truth is though, that most of the time promises mean nothing. Oh of course when we say them, we might even believe them. But words are easy, actions require so much more dedication and time. I have broken promises too and it has cost me more than one friendship. So it is probably very selfish and self-righteous of me to demand that you keep your promise to me when really, you probably have other things to worry about than my hurt ego. And well, let’s face it – I am not an easy person to befriend even under the best circumstances.
Yes, as you might have guessed already, I am angry. Not necessarily at you but at everything. Mostly at me. Because I always believe in a happy end when life has taught me many times that there are no happy endings, just happy in-betweens before the next disaster breaks lose. I am also honest enough to admit that I might not only miss you but the whole town I had to leave behind. And maybe that’s just sappy nostalgia, because I wasn’t exactly happy there – just a tad less miserable than I am now.
Still, all that doesn’t change the fact that I miss you. I miss talking to you. I miss drinking wine, talking about love, cats and life and listen to sappy 90ties music that made us feel younger than we are. I miss having you as a friend. I really do. And that is the real reason why I never write you anymore. I don’t want to know if you really don’t care. If you really don’t miss me at, not even a little every now and then. I don’t. But I still miss you. Because some people leave footprints in our hearts and we are never the same again.