Who were we before we were strangers? I don’t remember very well, but you used to be somebody so important to me. You were brilliant, caring, and trustworthy. I have memories of your hilarious one-liners and clever remarks, but this bond you claim we’ve had, I could no longer recall. When I think about you, I no longer think about how lucky I am to be with you. I can no longer remember all the movies we’ve watched or all the fun we’ve had as friends, a term that in itself has long lost its meaning.
When I think about you, I fail to remember – what made you so wonderful that made it difficult for me to let all of you go?
I forgot how it feels to write a date on my planner and get excited about it for hours, only to mentally stage the day’s events in my head some time later because I really did not want to make a fool out of myself. I forgot how it feels to go home with you, to ride a cramped bus and talk aimlessly for hours, to feel disappointed every time the bus stops at our last destination because time spent with you was never enough.
I forgot how it feels to miss you, to crave your presence when I see something I know you’d like or didn’t, and to send a message every time I saw something that reminded me of you; to do all those things without fear of appearing too needy or vulnerable for my own good. I forgot how it feels to have you by my side, to run to you or hug you when we see each other after a long, long time, to hear words of comfort as you held my hand, to forget about every other terrible thing in the world because it could not separate you from me.
I was so certain that what we had was unbreakable, but I was wrong, and even now, I could no longer remember what made it break. I wish I didn’t need to forget you, but circumstances happen, and people change, as do relationships. You asked me to let out all the remorse I felt towards you. I hope you didn’t think I was bitter or guilt-ridden for such a long time? I’m not, or maybe, I’m not anymore. Yes, I do remember
that you used to be somebody so important to me, but other than this thought, there is nothing else.
Back then, I’d probably say that it would take a miracle for me to spend days and weeks without thinking of you. I used to believe that I would remain lonely and miserable. I used to think that you could never be replaced, only to realize in the end that you, someone who was once precious to me, were temporary, just like any other beautiful and horrendous thing this world is capable of giving. I do not mind what we’ve turned into or how our lives have become. I do not mind the lingering silence that falls between us every time we are forced to share a space in the company of our familiars.
Surprisingly, this lull between us makes me at peace. I do not want to risk disturbing it by talking to you again, so I hope you accept things as they are. After all, there is nothing unpleasant about what we no longer have. So please don’t worry about me. I don’t need you to tell me that you’ll still be there, that I could still talk to you if I wanted to because that requires time and effort I’m not sure I’m willing to spend. You don’t need to explain yourself or to reassure me that we could still be friends.
I know all that and more, but don’t expect me to do those things to make you feel at ease. This silence that makes you uncomfortable makes me content, so I can’t relinquish it just yet, but trust me when I say that you’ll learn to live with it. You’ll be fine. I know you will. After all that I’ve said, know that everything I write after this is written with all the bravery and truthfulness I could muster.
During the rare occasions that I think of you, I always wish for your happiness. We’ve made each other better, and I’m grateful for the strength that you allowed me to find within myself. I don’t regret knowing you or being separated from you.
I am armed and guarded, yet happy and hopeful.
You opened my eyes to all that I was not, all that I was, and all that I could still be.
Go on without me, and know that this, with all my heart, is true – I don’t regret losing you. After three long years, I don’t think I ever did.