I was stupid. The first time, I guess those silly cries for attention were… well… exactly that. Another time, another place; a bad place. Pathetic, really, but fitting. Because I was pretty pathetic.
The second time… well, I never thought I’d resort to such childishness again. I’ve never acted like that before. Pathetic. But, I guess, “drunk me” (the “me” who sometimes fights the rest of me) was crying out… for attention? A desperate attempt, maybe, to admit that I really cared. ‘Cos, God knows, I’d never admit it sober. Or even drunk, it seems. Instead, I tried to obscure it – the urge to send, do, say something was too strong – so I tried to mask it with “accidental” nonsense. Pathetic.
My biggest problem was that I never trusted you. Not for a second. I wanted to, but, after every good night, good conversation, I’d go home and sleep would escape me. I couldn’t just enjoy it. I poisoned it, and my memory of it all, with doubt and fear. (Ugh, this is sounding awfully sappy)
Maybe that’s why I wanted to drag those times out for hours longer than made sense. Maybe I wasn’t fair; I forgave – or, said I did – but I didn’t, couldn’t, forget. I should have tried harder to – as someone who called myself a friend.
I don’t care, though. I don’t think either of us have anything to be ashamed of.
We’re, arguably, as much of a mess as each other… sometimes.
I wasn’t angry for long. Then I, successfully, convinced myself I still was. And, when that wore off, I was just a little sad. It’d be nice to keep in touch. So, here it is. Hope you’re well. Doubt you’ll read this, but, if you do, think about it.
It’s be nice to be real friends, like we used to imagine we were.