Moriah

I thought you were my best friend. When I first moved there, you were the second person to regularly talk to me-the first being Kate. We became close during our production of "The Mystery of the Manger", where we had the two lead roles, and I thought we'd be friends forever. And for a year and a half, we were the best of friends. We made movies with your sister's camera, we had sleepovers, and bought formals from thrift shops to parade in. We even built our secret place in the empty lot near your house, and set off fireworks, and kept quite about the time you jumped on your dad's car.

And then it all started to change. All of a sudden, I wasn't good enough for you. I was the annoyance, the fly buzzing in your ear, the mosquito biting your arm. And you started to hate me. At first it was just ignoring, choosing to be with others instead of me. And then you would parade your new friends in front of me, flaunting them in my face, as they stood where I once stood, oblivious to your schemes. And then came the comments, the snide remarks and hurtful words. The way you mocked, debased, and abhorred me.

And I will not lie: perhaps one of the happiest days of my life was when you moved. Though you kept up the pretence of freindship-through email and Facebook and such-we both knew it to be a ruse. I do not know why you tried.

And I do not know why you did those awful things, and, the thing is, I don't need to. And though you never asked for (nor probably even thought of) my forgiveness, I do forgive you. Not for you to feel better, but because it is the right thing to do, what a good person should do. And without forgiving you, I could never move on.

Although I was not glad it happened, I am glad it's past. I've learned a lot from your atrocities-how I never should behave, how to recognise a liar, how a true friend should (or in your case, should not) act. Part of this experience has made me who I am. It has made me choose my friends carefully and guard myself.

As you escalated, I think you hurt you more than you hurt me-which, at the time, was excruciatingly hard to believe. And for that, I feel sorry for you. I pity you for your insecurities.

But sometimes I wonder: maybe it was I who was all along too good for you.