Friendship Endures?
There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t think of you. I go to school, and I know exactly where I’ll pass you in the hallway, where you once smiled and waved, we now both turn our heads in opposite directions to avoid the question of whether or not we should say hi.
I once was able to walk through those hallways and not constantly wonder if I would bump into you, or if you were wandering the hallways too. I was able to go to my classes and never think of how you were in history: upstairs, opposite hallway, three doors down. I was able to go to my locker and look down the hallway, over at your’s, and not be worried that you would think that I was staring. I was able to talk to you, at anytime, and know that you wouldn’t think that I was trying to win you back.
But everything changes, doesn’t it?
Everything changes when you decide to make a relationship out of a friendship. Everything changed when you decided that it didn’t work. That we “didn’t have enough in common.” Everything changed when the next day, you weren’t at my locker talking to me, but you were directly across the hallway, 10 feet away, with her. Walking her to lunch. Her. You didn’t even know her. But you smiled at her like you did. You looked at her like I swear you used to look at me. Like you looked at me two weeks ago.
Everything changed when I tried to reach out to you, when I knew that the sting and pain of your rejection was only worse when I never got to see you. I did try, and yet you thought I wanted more than a friendship, didn’t you? You thought that I was begging you to come back.
I wasn’t— not in that way, at least.
No, I was begging the person that I knew before all of this to come back. Asking you to be my friend. To be the friend that you once were. But you can’t see me the same way, can you? I was worried about this. Do you remember? Do you remember when you were the one that liked me? When you were the one that wanted to test the waters of having a relationship? Do you remember what I said? I asked you if we would be able to be friends if one of us decided that it wouldn’t work out. You told me of course. “Some people just don’t work out, like my parents. But we, we will always be friends.”
Friends like your parents are?
I should have caught on quicker— your parents aren’t exactly eager to see each other, are they? But no.
Here we are. This weird back and forth. I feel like your last choice, when I once was always your first. I want to be friends again, I want to ignore the past, but not forget it. I can’t. You know that, don’t you? You should have known how all of this was going to go. I remember what my brother said to you, “She can take care of herself.” Do you remember what you said? “Oh. I know.” I know you know.
You knew this couldn’t go well. I wish I could be your friend, your actual friend. But I don’t think I can reach out first again. I already tried. Then you kind of tried. I was still nice to you, but I didn’t ever tell you exactly why I said no to prom. I wish I had, but I didn’t.
Maybe you really didn’t think that anything that you did was wrong. Maybe you had no ulterior motives. Maybe you really did want to start fresh. Maybe you were even secretly happy that my friends turned you down, and so you were “forced” to ask me.
Maybe.
But you didn’t tell me anything. You didn’t explain anything. You had nothing to lose, while I had everything. I’m sorry. But if you actually value my friendship, then you’re going to have to try a little harder. I wish you didn’t have to, but you do. Which probably means
goodbye.