Remember the times we’d sit on the phone? It would start as a short call, something silly, and next thing we knew, we’d be on the phone for three hours. I haven’t forgotten what it’s like. I’ve never forgotten the silly things we’d talk about—they never seemed to matter, they weren’t important at the time, but they meant the world to me. Having a friend I would count on hearing from at least every couple of days felt important to me.
You were always there for me, and I thought I was always there for you. There were some secrets, but that’s natural for friendships. We don’t always tell one another everything, but we would talk about them. It was almost as if we were talking in code. I would know certain things that you didn’t tell other people.
When I was in the same state, you came and spent the night. We played games on our phones, talked about life, watched silly TV shows, and stayed up all night. We didn’t talk the entire night, but we were comfortable with each other almost instantly. I knew that I would have a lifelong friend in you.
I thought I would have a lifelong friend in you, anyway. Then one day, it stopped. It wasn’t the same talking that we used to do. The calls dwindled, the texts stopped. We would go for a week without talking. A week turned into a month, a month turned into half a year. We were separating. I didn’t notice it at first. I didn’t notice that you were pulling away.
Then one day I noticed it had been six months since we spoke. We didn’t talk anymore—it was almost as if we weren’t friends. I drank a little too much one day and finally begged you to just answer me, let me know you were okay. I finally heard back. The conversation didn’t last for long, a few simple texts.
They meant a lot to me. I wondered if they would start coming again. They didn’t. It broke my heart a second time to realize that’s what it was. This is what our friendship had turned into. There are pictures on my Facebook of you and I. We used to have fun, and I felt comfortable in my own skin with you.
We have a mutual friend, and I hear from him almost daily. It’s rare to hear from you. I know I left a drunk voicemail—it was harsh and accusatory, claiming that our friendship must have meant nothing to you. I was hurt; I didn’t mean it. I know that we both meant something to each other.
I miss the old us. The friendship that felt like it would last for years. I thought we would be close friends for such a long time. We laughed together about everything, we just seemed happy to be around each other, watching YouTube videos and just being around each other. I’ll never forget the night in California that we went out walking to find something. I don’t remember what it was, but we walked from the hotel down the street to get something. It was fun.
We stayed up that whole night, watching everything from The Cleveland Show to Catfish, talking about how ridiculous the shows were. We talked about what we wanted to do, what our families were like; we talked about things that mattered but didn’t at the same time. We were friends. We were happy.
I miss being your friend, hearing your voice, smiling when you would text or call. I never fell in love with you, but I fell in love with our friendship. I miss the way we were, and I miss how we used to talk all the time. I miss you and the way you could make everything seem a little bit better.
You and I may have faded in the way that we talk, but I’ll never forget what our friendship was, and I’ll never stop hoping that one day, we can go back to the way we were.