A Second Letter

Dear S,

This is my second letter to you. The first letter was very, very different than the one I'm writing you now.

Since I wrote that letter 9 months ago (wow, has it really been 9 months since you got married?), a lot has changed. You've been married for nearly a year now. I am the same, yet different. Aren't we all? But one of the biggest changes since I wrote you that letter has been that this blog of mine has become a sanctuary of sorts for me, a place where -- more or less -- I feel at ease writing about my feelings, my thoughts, my emotions. Of course, many aspects of my life, I insist on keeping personal. That will always be the case regarding certain things.

But this is not one of them. Mainly, because I know there's not a chance in hell that you'll read what I'm writing to you now. Because you don't think about this part of my life.

Which makes complete sense, because you and I are no longer friends.

Do you remember the time I wrote you that email, telling you that I had to think about myself, preserve myself and my emotions, and cut you off cold turkey? Your life was way too much for me to handle for too many reasons, and so I did something that doesn't come so easily to me: I let a good friend go.

Do you remember how you didn't think that was necessary? Do you remember trying to convince me that we shouldn't stop being in each other's lives? Do you remember when I said okay, that we could talk about it if you wanted to?

Do you remember how you never returned that call? Do you remember that, S?

All I wanted was for you to be happy. And if that meant cutting myself out of the picture because I felt I had to for my sake (and possibly for yours), then I was willing to bite the bullet and do it. What I am not willing to do is be forgotten.

And that's what you did S, you forgot.

Forgot about who we were. Forgot about your priorities (or, most likely, shifted them altogether).

But you forgot.

And I'd be lying through my teeth if I said it didn't sting.

Oh, it stings.

And yet, I still hold out hope. After all, why else would I be writing this letter to you?

Please, S...don't forget. I may be angry with you, I may be hurt. But that doesn't mean that if you came back, I'd slam the door on you.

I'm afraid I would open it. I'd open it wide and listen.

If only you'd talk to me.

Love,
A

[photo via weheartit]