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Faded

Water stained notebooks with curled edges

Out of focus photographs

Which were supposed to capture a moment

Forever

I've forgotten

Because I wanted

To stop hurting.

You hate me now.

When we used to love.

Look into eachother's eyes

and giggle.

It wasn't perfect

But it WAS

All the times you comforted me

All the times you told me I was strong

All the times you held me

All the times you you sanganddanced just to see me smile.

I miss you

Not the fighting

Not the insecurities

Not the uncertainties

But the friendship.

You were my best friend.

And I told you almost everything.

Here is the rest:

100s of times I went to see you, spent hours in motion, sleeping cramped on ferry seats, ate stale danishes and drank earl grey. I called you. E-mailed you. Tried to keep in touch---extended a hand through space. It was only a summer.

Only a summer. I tried.  I wanted it to be the same. But I felt as if we were slipping. And I didn't think you cared anymore. Someone who cared would try, wouldn't they? But someone else cared. I rebuked him for six months. Loved you. Told him I loved you, was only going to be with you, that you loved me back. But at some point I had to reflect- think how you never came to visit me, how you constantly told me you weren't ready, how you could "at any minute get up and go"; how you threatened to leave me. So I clung desparately, hoping, begging in my silent way that you wouldn't go because I loved you. And you didn't go, but you didn't seem present either. And I thought...why....why would I commit to another year, and do this to either of us? Hurt either of us? You weren't ready, and I was trying to change you, all the while crying because I couldn't make you feel safe, couldn't make you want me forever.

I tried to end it. I tried to tell you. I tried to make you understand I was frightened. I wanted, hoped that you would tell me that I was all you needed; that you were ready. But you weren't. And I wasn't either. We weren't right for eachother. I knew that then.

He asked if he could kiss me. I let him. My questions were answered. And the next day I called you, to tell you that we were done. I hope I will never have to feel again what I felt that day. Because I hurt someone I loved. Because I hurt myself.

When I got back home, he was waiting. He was in love with me, but I wasn't in love with him. I still loved you.

Later, I fell in love with him. Knew that he and I were much better suited as partners than you and I were- not because we didn't love eachother, because we did, but because we were too young. And I'm still young, and I'm not ready to walk down the aisle just yet. But I could see myself five years from now in a white dress, with a degree, with a home, with a rounded stomach- stability, love. Complete.

So you can hate me, if it makes it easier. And I can forget the two years of friendship we shared, if it makes it easier.

But we would both be cheating ourselves of the wonderful, bittersweet, powerful, life-altering memories we made together. You and I. When we were one.