A letter to my best friend (slight langauge and content)


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Thread: A letter to my best friend (slight langauge and content)

  1. #1
    Member
    Join Date
    Mar 2009
    Location
    Fayette County, Ohio
    Posts
    44

    A letter to my best friend (slight langauge and content)

    I know you'll never read this, and that's most of the reason I'm putting it here. I love you, buddy, and I always will.

    I think about you at the most absurd and inappropriate times. But I guess any time I spend thinking about you is absurd and inappropriate. Itís not healthy, and I donít know why I do it. Youíll never feel the same way, and youíll never meet the fantasies Iíve constructed. Youíll never live up to the image I have created in my mind of what our life could be.
    And I donít mind that. I think Iím less in love with you, and more in love with that. That image. That idea. Us, in love, smiling at each other all the time. Spending hours looking into each otherís eyes, and holding one another. Making each other laugh instead of fumble over awkward answers to awkward questions. ďDo you still work at Panera?Ē ďUhÖ Yeah.Ē ďOh, coolÖ Whatís the uniform like..?Ē ďUhmÖ.Ē
    And itís those ideas and dreams and images that keep me coming back for more. Iím not content to be friends, but Iím content to pretend to be friends just so I can interact with you. I smile, and nod, but inside itís killing me that youíre not with me. Or maybe that you were with me at one point and now you arenít. Or Iím just hung up on the reason we broke up, even though Iím not entirely sure of what that reason is anymore, or if I ever knew it in the first place.
    Maybe I just want closure. Maybe I want you to sit down and say ďIím sorry that I ever agreed to date you.Ē Or ďIím sorry we ever met.Ē Wouldnít it be cool if they could really do that Eternal Sunshine thing? But then Iíd be deprived of all these sweet experiences, and warm memories, like sitting on my back porch on a mild summer night, half-high and listening to music a little too loudly for that hour of that night.
    Itís likely that I should be sorry, too. After our falling-out I tried to get you back. You always said you wanted a boy that would chase you. But I went about it in the worst ways. I tried to make you sympathize and worry for me, which is already a despicable enough strategy, but I ended up making you pity and loathe me, and that was far worse. Why would you want to stay in touch with someone who you constantly have to worry about?
    And so we stayed silent for a while. A passing ďHelloĒ text here and there, the occasional phone conversation, but nothing like the bonds we used to have. And finally they broke completely when you went to college. We talked maybe twice that whole year. I didnít mind. Through my ups and downs I had decided that you werenít worth my time, but as you can see now, I was really, really wrong.
    And then I met your best friend from when you still lived here, who temporarily became my very good friend. I lied to her and told her she was my best friend, because she was a fragile girl and needed it. And then I thought I could get to you through her, so I started taking things further with her than I ever should have, and it came back to bed me. I donít know if I betrayed her or if she betrayed me. All I know is that knowing now what I do, I donít regret it as much as I did at first.
    Then you called me one day. It was a hot, summer day, and I was laying half-high in my bedroom, loose t-shirt clinging to my skin with dampness, and my air-conditioner overworking itself. My phone rang, and I glanced at the number. Iíd had your number memorized for almost 4 years by then. My heart slammed as I answered it, and you informed me that you were at the school a few blocks from my house for some sort of theatre-related thing. You asked if you could come over. I stupidly agreed.
    My heart slammed more as I attempted to make myself presentable. It was the first time weíd seen each other in almost a year and a half. We didnít really talk about anything we hadnít talked about before. This day will always stick out to me, because you showed me a tiny heart-shaped scar youíd cut into yourself on your upper left pelvis. You undid your pants and pulled them down just low enough to show me the mark. You followed with the comment ďIím not wearing underwear, in case you were wondering.Ē It was the single most erotic moment of my life up to that point in time. I didnít act. My mouth got dry and it became slightly harder to breathe, but I didnít reach out. I wonder what wouldíve happened if I hadÖ
    And then you disappeared for a while longer. You moved back to your hometown. Until then I had forgotten that you were a fish out of water. Maybe that was part of the initial appeal. You werenít the typical country girl corn-fed cunt that I was used to encountering. You were refined, mysterious, and somewhat mentally unstable. You were new and threatening and somewhat dangerous, and that excited me. I still remember the first thing I ever said to you. It was delivered through a MySpace message after my best friend at the time made an offhand, exaggerated, comedic remark about a girl trying to suck his dick on the bus-ride home. ďWould it be audacious or maladroit to say that youíre very beautiful?Ē I used a thesaurus to look up synonyms for awkward and offensive. You applauded my intellect and decided that it wouldnít be, since Iíd done so with so much tact.
    Our entire first encounter is based off of fraudulence. Only now do I realize this was doomed from the start.
    But like the drunkard crawls back to the bottle, I sought you out of my own initiative. It was a small change in our usual social conduct. And now I realize that you wouldnít have called me first if you hadnít cared, a question Iíve always struggled with. Or maybe you were just curious to see if I had fallen to be so lowly. I had. I have. I am. You told me of your adventures in college. All the sex and drugs, and the new music and wild nights, and I could tell that you were an utterly different person than I had first admired. But you still had the basic qualities I had loved. Just horribly distorted, and almost unrecognizable. I remember that my drug use had always fascinated you. And your drug use infuriated and hurt me. I couldnít fathom why you would turn to all that.
    And then, on one of the other most memorable nights of my life (it seems the nights I think back to to cheer me up when Iím upset usually involve you), you told me. We sat on my bed, in my house, smoking marijuana and talking. You had quit college and moved back to your hometown again. You were dating your childhood love interest. As of this writing, you have been for about three years. A new personal record for you, and Iím bitterly happy for you. You told me about how insane your mom was. About how horrible your life was when Iíd first met you. And suddenly everything youíd ever said or done made an astonishing amount of since and I was overcome with regret that I hadnít been able to help you. You said it was okay. You said that even if Iíd known, there was nothing I couldíve done to help. I still donít think youíre right. But it would be incredibly wrong of me to say that your life would be better if I had helped you. I think you probably enjoy your life quite a bit now.
    And through all this writing, it may sound like Iím angry, or remorseful. Maybe I sound jealous, or depressed, or upset. But really Iím happy. Iím happy that youíre okay now, and that youíre surrounded by people who will always make sure youíre okay.

    But mostly, Iím nostalgic for the best friend I used to have, and the girl I used to love. Youíre still here, but sheís long gone, and sheís not coming back, and Iím staying in this evening, writing.

  2. #2
    A lovely, bitter-sweet read. I hope my suggestions help.
    Thank you for sharing.
    Bazz
    I know you'll never read this, and that's most of the reason I'm putting it here. I love you, buddy, and I always will.

    I think about you at the most absurd and inappropriate times. But I guess any time I spend thinking about you is absurd and inappropriate. It’s not healthy, and I don’t know why I do it. You’ll never feel the same way, and you’ll never meet the fantasies I’ve constructed. You’ll never live up to the image I have created in my mind of what our life could be.

    And I don’t mind that. I think I’m less in love with you, and more in love with that. That image. That idea. Us, in love, smiling at each other all the time. Spending hours looking into each other’s eyes, and holding one another. Making each other laugh instead of fumble over awkward answers to awkward questions. “Do you still work at Panera?” “Uh… Yeah.” “Oh, cool… What’s the uniform like..?” “Uhm….”

    And it’s those ideas and dreams and images that keep me coming back for more. I’m not content to be friends, but I’m content to pretend to be friends just so I can interact with you. I smile, and nod, but inside it’s killing me that you’re not with me. Or maybe that you were with me at one point and now you aren’t. Or I’m just hung up on the reason we broke up, even though I’m not entirely sure of what that reason is anymore, or if I ever knew it in the first place.
    Maybe I just want closure. Maybe I want you to sit down and say “I’m sorry that I ever agreed to date you.” Or “I’m sorry we ever met.” Wouldn’t it be cool if they could really do that Eternal Sunshine thing? But then I’d be deprived of all these sweet experiences, and warm memories, like sitting on my back porch on a mild summer night, half-high and listening to music a little too loudly for that hour of that night.

    It’s likely that I should be sorry, too. After our falling-out I tried to get you back. You always said you wanted a boy that would chase you. But I went about it in the worst ways. I tried to make you sympathize and worry for me, which is already a despicable enough strategy, but I ended up making you pity and loathe me, and that was far worse. Why would you want to stay in touch with someone who you constantly have to worry about?
    And so we stayed silent for a while. A passing “Hello” text here and there, the occasional phone conversation, but nothing like the bonds we used to have. And finally they broke completely when you went to college. We talked maybe twice that whole year. I didn’t mind. Through my ups and downs I had decided that you weren’t worth my time, but as you can see now, I was really, really wrong.

    And then I met your best friend from when you still lived here, who temporarily became my very good friend. I lied to her and told her she was my best friend, because she was a fragile girl and needed it. And then I thought I could get to you through her, so I started taking things further with her than I ever should have, and it came back to bed me.(? Haunt?) I don’t know if I betrayed her or if she betrayed me. All I know is that knowing now what I do, I don’t regret it as much as I did at first.

    Then you called me one day. It was a hot, summer day, and I was laying (Lying) half-high in my bedroom, loose t-shirt clinging to my skin with dampness, and my air-conditioner overworking itself. My phone rang, and I glanced at the number. I’d had your number memorized for almost 4 years by then. My heart slammed as I answered it, and you informed me that you were at the school a few blocks from my house for some sort of theatre-related thing. You asked if you could come over. I stupidly agreed.

    My heart slammed more as I attempted to make myself presentable. It was the first time we’d seen each other in almost a year and a half. We didn’t really talk about anything we hadn’t talked about before. This day will always stick out to me, because you showed me a tiny heart-shaped scar you’d cut into yourself on your upper left pelvis. You undid your pants and pulled them down just low enough to show me the mark. You followed with the comment “I’m not wearing underwear, in case you were wondering.” It was the single most erotic moment of my life up to that point in time. I didn’t act. My mouth got dry and it became slightly harder to breathe, but I didn’t reach out. I wonder what would’ve happened if I had…

    And then you disappeared for a while longer. You moved back to your hometown. Until then I had forgotten that you were a fish out of water. Maybe that was part of the initial appeal. You weren’t the typical country girl corn-fed cunt that I was used to encountering. You were refined, mysterious, and somewhat mentally unstable. You were new and threatening and somewhat dangerous, and that excited me. I still remember the first thing I ever said to you. It was delivered through a MySpace message after my best friend at the time made an offhand, exaggerated, comedic remark about a girl trying to suck his dick on the bus-ride home. “Would it be audacious or maladroit to say that you’re very beautiful?” I used a thesaurus to look up synonyms for awkward and offensive. You applauded my intellect and decided that it wouldn’t be, since I’d done so with so much tact.

    Our entire first encounter is based off of (on) fraudulence. Only now do I realize this was (we were)doomed from the start.

    But like the drunkard who crawls back to the bottle, I sought you out of my own initiative. It was a small change in our usual social conduct. And now I realize that you wouldn’t have called me first if you hadn’t cared, a question I’ve always struggled with. Or maybe you were just curious to see if I had fallen to be so lowly.(Ouch! Grammar) I had. I have. I am. You told me of your adventures in college. All the sex and drugs, and the new music and wild nights, and I could tell that you were an utterly different person than (to the one I) had first (don't need first) admired. But you still had the basic qualities I had loved (love). Just horribly distorted, and almost unrecognizable. I remember that my drug use had always fascinated you. And your drug use infuriated and hurt me. I couldn’t fathom why you would turn to all that.

    And then, on one of the other most memorable nights of my life (it seems the nights I think back to to cheer me up when I’m upset usually involve you), you told me. We sat on my bed, in my house, smoking marijuana and talking. You had quit college and moved back to your hometown again. You were dating your childhood love interest. As of this writing, you have been for about three years. A new personal record for you, and I’m bitterly happy for you. You told me about how insane your mom was. About how horrible your life was when I’d first met you. And suddenly everything you’d ever said or done made an astonishing amount of since (sense) and I was overcome with regret that I hadn’t been able to help you. You said it was okay. You said that even if I’d known, there was nothing I could’ve done to help. I still don’t think you’re right. But it would be incredibly wrong of me to say that your life would be better if I had helped you. I think you probably enjoy your life quite a bit now.

    And through all this writing, it may sound like I’m angry, or remorseful. Maybe I sound jealous, or depressed, or upset. But really I’m happy. I’m happy that you’re okay now, and that you’re surrounded by people who will always make sure you’re okay.

    But mostly, I’m nostalgic for the best friend I used to have, and the girl I used to love. You’re still here, but she’s long gone, and she’s not coming back, and I’m staying in this evening, writing.

  3. #3
    I love reading stuff like this...things so many of us has experienced, on some level. I'm a girl who's been where the person you are writing to has been, and I think it's hard to lose a friend like that. Feels wasteful. I enjoyed reading. Maybe you can turn this into a longer work? Very well done.

  4. #4
    Member
    Join Date
    Mar 2009
    Location
    Fayette County, Ohio
    Posts
    44
    Bazz, your suggestions didn't help. Even a little bit. but thanks.

    Phantom, I never lost a friend. I lost a lover and gained a friend. But yeah, it's a shitty situation all around, man.

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