journal

Waiting, Missing

I miss him. Our clever conversations, his uncanny ability to read my true thoughts through my words. I remember my bitterness at our parting, that he would cast me aside so carelessly, at least four years of friendship. Friendship and, a few times, more, if I’m being honest. Who do I know that can say what it was to him? Perhaps I was just some girl that was there when he was lonely, but nothing truly tangible. In truth, all of the bitterness has gone out of me now, as much as I wanted to hold onto it. No more anger or spite, only sorrow at the loss of a friend I truly held dear to me. Sorrow, and the hope that life is treating him well.

Maybe it would be different, now. Maybe we would have nothing to say to each other anymore. Thinking on it, I suppose a great many of our conversations were based on our mutual circumstance of waiting. Waiting for our lives to spring into some new and happy territory, waiting for something better than what was, waiting for something better than each other. I do not like to think that it was the latter. I would hope to at least be more than a waiting game to him. I wonder if he would have treated me the same way had I gone to Las Vegas. What if he had more of a care for me because of it? My fear, the reason I decided not to go, was that it would have been even worse.

So I ponder such things and know that I cannot and will never know what might have been, had one thing occurred differently. I have been given only the gift of hindsight and as many educated guesses as my brain allows. I do hope he is happy. I thought briefly of sending a message to him, to ask if we might set aside a distant past, as both of our lives have vastly changed, and be united once more as friends to share together in our unknown futures. But well enough left alone, I guess. Old habits may die too hard, and there is always my larger fear; things have grown too different over the years. We have grown too different. There will be nothing to say and all that I thought was strong and good will turn to dust before me. Our “friendship” blown away by the wind. Perhaps better just to remember him, it, as we were, and live with the dull ache of it.

I really do miss you, though. Goodnight.

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