Dear you,
I'm kind of sorry. I say kind of because I cannot say straight out that I am sorry. I don't know if I completely am because I know I can survive easily without you. I've been doing it ever since I cut ties with you and if you want me to be honest, nothing changed. I didn't cry over our lost friendship because it was my choice in the first place to burn that bridge. But I do feel kind of sorry for doing that. For you it must have been unexpected and it was certainly not the most graceful way to handle the problem. You have to understand that whatever issue put me over the edge wasn't the one reason I did what I did; it was more like the last straw. Maybe I tried to explain it to you but I don't think I did a good job. I want you to know that it wasn't all your fault. Most of it was actually my problem. From previous fights we had, I knew how to ignore you and pretend you didn't exist; and from the countless hours we spent together, I knew how to be your best friend. I didn't know how to find a middle ground between the two extremes, and there was no way I was going to take the risk of being a "casual friend" because we both knew where that leads. That was the cycle I referred to. Every time we started talking again, it escalated out of control. So we quit talking altogether. Except now we talk online a bit and it's not as awkward as that first time you IMed me about a spanish question. I enjoy talking to you now because there are no strings attached. I don't feel obligated to you but our shared past gives us easy topics to talk about. Plus, the years we were best friends, especially the ones where it was me, you, and Nicole, were probably the best years of my life. Looking back I hate who I was, but I'm jealous of how happy I was. Maybe I'm only talking to you now because it resurrects that carefree feeling I had in my middle school years...but maybe we've matured to the point where we can be "casual friends." That does not mean we would hang out every weekend and find some way to see each other between classes. I don't really know what it means but I think it wouldn't be a big deal if we met up at Starbucks once in a while to catch up. What's stopping me from attempting that partially has to do with my parents. They were never major fans of us being best friends. Don't get me wrong; they do not and never have hated you...but my mother described our friendship as tumultuous and her "tolerating" you being around so much. She says we didn't have a healthy relationship. I don't think we did either. We spent so much time together that sometimes we wanted to bite each other's heads off. Your mom didn't approve of me and apparently vice versa. Sometimes I felt like your emotional problems were too much for me to handle...and your trivial habits grated on my nerves. But we're inexplicably drawn to each other. There is always something that causes one of us to IM the other. As dysfunctional as we can be, we're not meant to hate each other...but I also cannot face the disappointment my parents would try to cover up if I ever mentioned meeting up with you again.
I'l think about it.
Sincerely,
me.
Letter #2:
Dear you,
Just for the record, I don't want to hang out with you two over April break. That is about the last thing I want to do, but apparently my mother thinks it's okay to make plans for me. I know this is horribly blunt but lately I feel like that's the only way I can address you. I can see where you're coming from: you don't understand why all of a sudden I stopped inviting you over on Friday nights. The truth is, I have better things to do. It had gotten to the point where a half hour after you two showed up, I wanted you to leave because I felt like I was wasting my time. I imagined all the things my friends were out doing, and I hated that I subjected myself to the confines of your company and my house every Friday night. And you know, it does have a lot to do with that religious debate, if you can even call it a debate. I wouldn't because all you did was treat me like I needed your help and it was your job to save me from myself. I'm starting to become enraged just thinking about this. But the point is, I don't hate you for that, and I forgive you. But I can't forget. I can't. Every time we make eye contact the heaviness of that night presses down on my shoulders until I turn away. I don't have any problems with people who have different beliefs; it's when people treat me like a lesser being and try to force their beliefs on me that I lash out and become cold. As of right now I cannot be with either of you. It's a shame you're not going to Italy this summer.
Sincerely,
me.
Letter #3:
Dear you,
I've written you too many letters, two of which I think you read and the third being one that I never sent. It's still saved at the bottom of a random document on my old laptop where hopefully no one but me has ever laid eyes on it. The sad thing is that I write these letters to you and you will never read them, but maybe it is a good thing because I might die of embarrassment if you did. Anyway, I'm writing this now because previously, back when you talked to me, I found a million different ways to beat around the bush of what I could say in a few simple words.
I love you.
That is all.
This time, I don't want a response.
Sincerely,
me.
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