No, it's somewhere in between.
I think. I think, I think.
Sometimes I'm not sure where I stand when we're talking. I'm not sure if I'm being insulting just to be funny, or if it's because I'm not sure what friends do. I get scared sometimes that this is all because we're falling back into our old habits, back into our cyclical behaviors that helped us meet our demise in the first place. And that can't be too good, can it? Then again, there were days--months, rather--where we didn't say anything at all. So I'll take what small progresses we have.
Sometimes I hate it. I hate you. I hate the things that were said, the choices that were made, the feeling of being defeated and still feeling like it was deserved. I hate it all. And occasionally, when I look at you, or you say something a little too scathing, I'll be brought right back to all the destruction you helped to create in my life. I'm brought right back to the place where I felt I couldn't do it anymore. Where I let you down, and wasn't bothered by that fact. Honestly, we both perpetuated so much hate against ourselves and one another, it makes me sick to reminisce upon. My mind's forgotten a lot of the details, sure, but my heart's still reacting to everything that happened.
Sometimes, I miss it. I miss you. I miss the ways we'd communicate, the ways we'd share everything with one another. I'll hear a song and be reminded of you (and subsequently, avoid it thereafter), and find myself wishing that singing along didn't feel like such a fucking lie. I'll even see random people wandering around a stupid theme park, holding hands, looking at each other, and it'll make me sad. Sometimes I envision doing something absolutely absurd, like hugging you, just to see what you'd do. Thankfully, I don't have the guts and I'm far too paranoid to pull that sort of shit. I have to be content with the knowledge that I had all of that once, and I had it with you. But not anymore. I'm not even sure how you feel about me these days--and I'm not sure that you should even feel anything about me in all truthfulness. I did some awful things, and I hope--well, I'm thinking--you've learned from them.
I know that I've learned from everything, but still, I don't know what I'm doing.
I don't know how to be friends, though I am trying.
I'm sorry if I make things awkward, I'm sorry if I'm rude... All the things you might have once found endearing must resonate no better than an exposed nerve these days.
And I apologize for everything, again, always. My part in things, at least. Okay, no, all of it. Fuck, I'm stubborn. But I miss you, and I'm sure a part of me will always love you. And I guess, I mean, I hope that somewhere, some part of you misses me too. Or at the very least, can acknowledge that I'm not all horrid and at one point, was even charming. But don't fret, I won't be counting on it.
Hopefully you understand why I don't talk about these things--I'm still not even sure of how I feel or what to say--and please, don't bring it up. I know I tried to bring this up tonight, and in the past you've mentioned talking things through...but all the possible consequences I can think of for sorting through the past hardly seem worth the trouble. You're one of the only friends I have left, and you're one of the best friends I've ever had. I can't afford losing you again...
Besides, I'm leaving soon. And none of this will matter.
Everything is always all for the best. Thanks for everything, really. It likely means more than you know.
(Oh, and I don't think I ever showed you what I was supposed to receive in the mail that one time...this was for you. I thought you would've loved it, but I think it's best you never got it.)
Love and please, Be Well,
Megan
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