How is it that you walk on the same path as I do, yet you cannot spare a glance in my direction? I am not subtle in my ways – never have been – so I continue to look at you like a starved man might look at a meal. It’s not that I want to have you. It’s just that I’d like to have your attention, for a little while longer. Look up from the broken screen you hide behind, and meet my eyes. These days I think everything I haven’t been able to put into words is reflected in them; but what does it matter? You won’t be meeting my gaze anytime soon, maybe because you resent the person I am, or in your view, the person I’ve become.
It’s terrifying how fast resentment can grow in place of affection, which is why self-examination is crucial to my growth. I don’t think I can resent you, regardless of how hard I try. This morning, because it hurt too much, I allowed myself to engage in a bitter dialogue with your phantom. I could only achieve disgust and loathing aimed solely at myself. Do you resent me now? You did say you don’t hate me, but how am I supposed to believe you when you’ve acted otherwise? Besides, I’m no one to ask you to convince me if I’m right in my assumptions of the way you feel about me now.
If you don’t hate me, or resent me, I wonder if you’re angry.
“Are you mad at me?” I questioned you so often, and received assurances vigorously of the opposite that I’m now afraid to ask you one more time. The answer might not be what I want to hear, but I just want to hear your voice, so it’s alright. Be mad at me. Yell, shriek, throw things, shake the life out of me, but say something. Your absence is far worse than any amount of insults you can hurl. I sound so pathetic; we’d be laughing at me.
You left without telling me why, and that is one thing I can’t let go of. I will always wonder if there was ever the possibility of us being reunited, as friends, as family. The nights that I will spend awake daydreaming about the future we might’ve had, if only. I despise, “if only.” These thoughts are driving me insane, and sometimes I can barely function, so I have to shut them down, only… it’s not easy to shut down the hurt that comes along with them. Do you think of what could’ve been, but will most likely never be, now that we barely acknowledge each other’s existence? Truth is I miss you.
I am hurt that you didn’t think you could talk to me. Was it so hard to knock on my door, and tell me we needed to sit down, and lay it all bare? It took you so long to make up your mind, while I questioned every move I’ve made for the past months, overthinking, looking at everything I’ve said and trying to figure out where I went wrong. In the end, I realized this might not be completely my fault, and I can’t determine the cause if you won’t communicate. You’ve always avoided confrontations, but I am deeply offended how you thought a conversation with me would be a confrontation.
For old times’ sake, dear friend, don’t hold anything back, come see me, and this time we’ll figure it out together.