This is a letter. It can be to whomever you want it to be to, but it's probably not to you.
In other words, I'm too chicken-shit to speak my mind, so it's going here.
My dear friend,
We've lost touch. Years have gone by, and it seems like lifetimes since I've seen you last.
I missed you. I missed you like a raincloud misses rain. I gave you up and you just fell away. But funny thing about rainclouds, is that they always form again. It's like that song I learned in first grade, to the tune of some classical song attributed to a composer I've lost the name of over time.
Precipitation, Evaporation, Condensation, and the cycle begins again. (okay, so it starts with Evaporation, but we'll ignore that particular. This is about a metaphor. Or a simile. I'm not entirely sure anymore).
I'm not saying I want what we had before. That's a horrible idea, why did you even suggest it? (I'm not mad, nor am I saying you really did suggest it). It also is impossible. We're too different from who we were to be that way again.
And perhaps it's not you who I miss (though it seemed that way this evening). Perhaps it's who you were and I hate that thought. Because I like to believe that our core doesn't change, we are shaped by our experiences, yes, but the very base of our being is what calls out to others. And I'd like to think that ours call out to each other.
Not, perhaps, romantically. It was always a thought in the back of my mind, and certainly there were times I thought it could be. But we were great friends. We shared a lot between ourselves. We were two beings on the edge of the precipice of the end of the beginning of the rest of our lives.
And I let you go. I let you go to save myself, because I was too fond of you, and you let me leave you behind, because of reasons I'll probably never know.
But tonight, oh! tonight. I saw you across the room and knew it was you, even without being told (though I was informed, but mostly so I would look in the correct direction). And I was frightened. I was nervous. My knees shook and I blamed it on my shoes, but really, it was you.
And you hugged me.
Can I tell you a secret? One that isn't really a secret at all? I'm not used to physical contact. Oh, I like it, I crave it sometimes, even. But it's not something I learned to ask for, and it was never frequently freely given. It still shocks me when people touch me, just casually, on the shoulder, or arm.
And you hugged me. Not once, but at least twice (I think I'm starting to count one as more than one, but, hey, it happens). And even though today I was particularly popular as far as friendly-people who tap my shoulder or guide me with a hand on my upper back, or even my new friend at work who hugged me (three times!) go, it still surprised me.
And I think you should know that I missed the hell out of you. I missed you so much. I missed the casualness of our relationship. Of our friendship. Of our companionship. You are two-thirds my t'hyla, and I know you probably won't get that reference, but you are my friend and my brother.
And I miss you.
The Georgiana to my Darcy was there, and witnessed the hug. And she probably saw more than was actually there, just like I felt more than was probably there, but the way she described how you hugged me back, it was like you were just as eager to have me be right there as I am to be right there.
This isn't even trying to be subtle anymore. Writing any more obviously and I'd have names, dates, places, and a check-in on facebook or foursquare logged in here.
Maybe I need to go to bed. It's been a long, wonderful day.
And I'm glad I looked pretty, not just for you (though, I'll admit, it certainly helped me feel a little more confident), but because it did make me feel better, for once. I didn't feel like I had makeup caked on, I felt like I was myself.
I felt pretty, and they say that's the first step. And I'm glad you got to see it. Because I have grown, just like you have.
And while I miss you, I'm still scared. I'm still me, and I'm still probably not going to make the first move.
And I hope, I hope hope hope beyond hope, that we can be friends. That we can be as close as we were, as the different (but still the same) people we are now.
And I hope you missed me too.
Yours,
Me
**********
Aaaand, that's a lot of soul to expose. Wow. Okay, wasn't expecting all of that. But hey! Still in a good mood, don't feel like shit, and he'll probably never read this anyway! Yay! Good day all around, no?
Until next time, Dear Readers,
Me.
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