Those last words…finally.
The other day, I hit send.
I found the courage to speak my heart, to let it bleed out honestly and raw.
I found the strength to believe I’d truly lost my friend and to embrace the pain and heartache that I knew would come with it.
I found the right words, and I hit send.
Whether the timing was right or not, nobody can know, but I knew they had to come out.
I wrote what are likely to be the last words you ever hear from me. Or more accurately, the last words I may get to share with you because I knew when I hit send, if they sat there alone, if they were met with silence, that I would never send more again.
I knew when I sent them, what they meant – either The End or New Chapter. And I knew that the minute I hit the little green arrow to push them through from my phone to yours, because sadly I also accepted I’d never get the chance to speak them, I knew as well that only you would be able to decide if they represented the final lines of everything or the chance for a new beginning.
I knew they were the right words because they were true.
I knew they were the ones to send because they made me cry writing them and my fingers shook sending them.
I knew they felt right because they came from deep inside, and because when I sent them, they terrified me. But they also made me feel free. Free of the uncertainty and not knowing what to do or what to say, when in truth, I had that power all along – and it was simple – to be honest and trust in fate, and in you.
I knew after writing 20 different versions, trying to video them with my face, that in the end, these were the ones to share. And that while my face could have possibly conveyed unspoken emotions, given you something visual to attach more meaning to, I guess I believed you knew me better and felt me truer when I wrote for you. Because you knew my writing was me – a little piece of my soul, a part of my heart – a gift, given just to you, a part of me only you were allowed to see and experience.
I knew these words were right because the pain I felt after sending them was so severe I felt it like an electric current coursing through my brain, my heart, my entire body. I know still, they were right, because the pain today is worse than yesterday, as the reality of losing my friend sinks in. I know tomorrow, I’ll cry even more tears, and my body will hurt more. I knew then as I know now, this was the consequence I had to choose to endure.
I knew the last words I would send you were the right ones because I knew in sending them, they were going to help me finally let go. I had to let go. I didn’t want to, I still don’t. But, I had to.
I had to let go of the wishful thinking – that you still cared the way I cared, that my life still was of importance to you the way your dreams and life were still to me. I was no longer constantly on your mind, and in order to finally accept that, I had to let go.
I had to let go of the hope that you were in my life still. I had to let go of the idea that everything could be fixed if we just acted like life hadn’t happened. I had to let go of the idea that as friends we would just magically go back to normal – when the reality is only a NEW normal can be created, and only you can decide that.
I had to let go because I had no control, and trying to believe I did was exhausting.
I had to let go of the hope that if I could heal myself from my past fast enough, you would see it, see the real me again and everything would be okay.
I had to send the words so I could start to let go – of the way you made me laugh, the way you made me feel seen, the way we talked about everything important and everything random with the same fervor, of the joy of new experiences, shared together and of giving to you. I had to send the words, because I had to start to try to make my mind forget the way you understood it, make my body forget the way you used to comfort it and make it come alive, to make my heart stop wishing for my friend to come back to me, romantic stuff aside.
I had to send those words for me because I had to finally try to see – that no matter what I wished, perhaps for you just being only friends couldn’t possibly be. That perhaps instead of what we had, with the romantic part removed, you’d rather I could disappear into a distant memory than to be a true friend still in your life. It’s what you were taught – that girls and guys cannot be friends that one will always want more – but while I disagree completely, it doesn’t matter in the end.
I had to let all of that go, because I had to finally force myself to accept a life in which your presence isn’t there, but instead a gaping dark hole where you used to be. I had to entertain the idea that it was all in my head – that it was possibly never real for you.
I had to let go in order to know finally what this friendship could be – because only you can control The End or New Chapter, and so until you decide, I have to assume you’re choosing the first.
I had to send the words I did so that you felt no pressure but knew I was here for you.
I knew the words were right because they showed you what you gained – a friend who loves you as you are, who supports you, who encourages you, who feels laughter and joy in your presence.
I knew the words were right because they did not reprimand your cruel behavior but apologized for the mistakes I’d made. They were my words for you, and only I can own my truth – I couldn’t own yours, and I never want to; only ever to listen.
I hit send and knew the risks. I knew they could be misinterpreted. I knew they could be laughed at. I knew they could push you further away, truly sever that final thread of friendship. I knew, and it hurt the most to think of this, but I knew also they could never, ever be read.
I found the right words to show you – I am still the friend you gained unexpectedly, still here, still me.
I found the exact words to tell you – you always have a friend here, someone who loves you the way you are and expects nothing more than friendship in return.
I found the combination of letters and lines to say – I’m sorry, forgive me, or don’t, but either way, I’ll always care.
I found the final letter I could write for you, one that this time didn’t rhyme, and it was the way I said – no pressure, it’s your choice, and I’ll understand, that if you wish you say goodbye I’ll wish you well my friend.
I knew the words were right because I knew that the pain I feel now would either be replaced by the joy later if our friendship was still there or would eventually become something to live with – flaring up when something triggered a memory or feeling of you.
I knew the words I sent you were right to potentially be my last.