A letter.

 Before I get started, just let me point out that the below entry is a letter to a friend that stopped talking to me over a year ago. We were very close; she was my whole world. I dedicated time and energy to her that no one else has ever gotten. This may seem almost romantic in nature, and I’m okay with that. This entry is strictly to get unresolved feelings towards this friend out. A few things might not make sense to you. I apologize in advance. 

Dear Yai,

I just want to say that, from the moment I met you, even though I didn’t know your name, I have adored you. You’re dramatic, selfish, you over-think everything and the stupidest little things upset you. But I love you. More than life itself. I’ve loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone–I’ve loved you in all those stupid poetic ways described in books, I’ve loved you like all those stupid lovey posts on Tumblr, and I think I’ll always, always love you like that.

You leaving was my fault. Just like everything was always my fault with you. Our relationship was unhealthy, and I know that. But there are so many times when I just don’t care because that is how much I loved you. I was okay with you causing me stress, making me feel like shit, casting me aside for every little thing I did wrong. I was alright with the emotional abuse you put me through. Because you gave me a purpose. You needed me, and I needed you, and I loved you, and, to me, that is what mattered.

The short year and three months we were friends was the most emotionally stressful yet beautiful fifteen months I’ve ever experienced. It’s hard to believe I met you over two years ago, and in just a few months time, you became my everything, and then I became your nothing. You were a bitch. Every time I spoke up against you, every time I let myself step out of the personality that I’d forced upon myself for you, you got angry. You got sad. You would stop talking, not only to me, but to everyone for days at a time to make me feel remorseful. But I found something in you I’d never found in anyone else–and understanding. I understood you, and you understood me. I found that I loved you through another misguided and odd love that you shared by happenstance. I loved someone I could never have, no matter how much I wished, because it was simply impossible. All sorts of impossible. A sort of impossible I would have to explain to have people understand, and even then they may not believe me. Traces of that love are left; I can feel it when I see pictures of him that I haven’t put on a shelf so I could ignore it. And you understood how I could love him and why I adored him so deeply, so much it hurt my heart and haunted my every thought–it was a beautiful, strange, maybe even a mentally-ill sort of love.

And we helped each other through our odd loves. We made it easier on each other, through daydreams and conversations and mutual wishes–and through you I found solace for heartache no one understood except for Miriam.

But you got jealous. And clingy. I had to be yours. Even though Miriam had been with me through much more, even though I should have drawn a line and stayed loyal to her, I gave her up. I gave up a friendship as deep as sisterhood for you, to make you happy, to keep you from feeling bad. I lost a friend of four years. And for what?

So I could make you happy.

The thing about our friendship was you were always taking, and doing as minimal giving as you could get by on. I gave up friends, ignored strong personality traits and morals I held for myself, cried myself to sleep and beat myself up every time you were sad, or upset.

And somehow, you made that okay. Because all your happiness was enough to make me happy, even if, in the back of my mind, I knew I was miserable.

And then the time of the TNRPG rolled around, and you no longer cared for me. You cared for what I could do for you. Maybe that’s all our relationship ever was. Maybe I never wanted to admit that. If what I said or did did not benefit you, you would get upset. And when I stopped giving you what you wanted, that stupid, meaningless work of fiction you claimed to have needed, you stopped giving me what I wanted–you stopped giving me yourself.

It was May when you left me without so much as a goodbye. I spoke to Mary that night. I expressed to her all the anguish I felt at your brand-new, permanent sort of absence. This time, I knew you would not come back to me in just two days time. This time, I knew you were gone for good.

It is again May. My last day of school for the year is tomorrow, and I find myself still missing you. It’s dulled, now. I only think of you maybe once a day. But it’s progress. But at times, when I am sad and feel alone, I find myself wanting you. I want to hear your voice, soft and quiet with that faint accent; I want to hear you over the phone, giggling at me. I want to see your name on my phone display, accompanied by a cute “I love you, twinie<3” typed in the message box. I want to see you send me pictures, with your curled hair, and your little beauty mark, and your sad brown eyes set in the middle of your lovely face. And I want you.

I have found someone to love more than anyone…someone to live for, since then. My beautiful, amazing [REDACTED], who is so much sweeter, and gentler, and loves me for who I am rather than what I can do. But I have this horrible problem where I get stuck in the past and cannot leave. You are my past, Yai, and I want you to stay there. Even if, at times, I wish for you to be my future.

Writing this gets me nowhere. You will never read this, you will never even know this exists. But if, maybe, I can pretend you will stumble across this entry and diary while googling something, some day, it will set me at ease enough to finally feel comfortable enough to forget the sound of your voice and the way your love felt.

Until I do, I love you, Twinie. I love you more than you’ll ever know. Please have a long and happy life…that was all I really ever wanted.

I love you,

Sarah.