To My Nomad Friend.

I could feel our friendship slipping. Kind of like the way sand used to pass easily between my fingers when I was a kid. However… with the sand, I used to be able to pick it up again, immediately after it hit the ground, before it was ever really gone.

With you though, it was different. If I have to be completely honest with myself, and with you, playing with sand was always peaceful as a child and this distance didn’t resemble that at all. It was more like the fumble of a football, or that moment when you drop your brand new iPhone as soon as you take the case off for the very first time.

Can you recall all those “oh shit” moments? The ones that you know are going to end badly, and the same ones that are completely and utterly out of your control? It was moments like that that reminded me most of our disintegrating friendship.

My heart was in my throat before I was even able to choke out the idea that what we once had was now just going to be some stupid lost memory. Something that you stumble across in 30 years when the only detail you’ll be able to remember about me is my name, and not the way my hair used to fall or how I used to drive with my left leg up on the seat even though it was dangerous and used to terrify you.

So here’s a letter to you, my friend, who knows all my secrets and all of my flaws, and who drifted away from me, with no real good cause.

We used to talk you know?
And I mean we used to really talk.
24/7.
From sunrise to sunset.
And now I’m lucky if I hear from you every full moon. I don’t wake up in the morning and reach for my phone, with my eyes still closed, knowing that your text is already waiting, because even when I’m still in a sleepy daze I know that you are gone. I know that for some reason there is this gap between us that no amount of texts will ever be able to repair. And I now know, after weeks of hope, that even if there was a small chance of rekindling this dying flame, no text message would come anyway.

I truly am used to people leaving. I told you that back when our friendship was being built. On the nights when I sat on your bedroom floor and we spilled our hearts out in the pitch black at 3 a.m. I told you about all the people who walked away and all of the walls I built up because of them. On that night you proceeded to climb over all my barriers and join me in my own personal kingdom where you promised you’d never leave. I told you that I didn’t care and that I was better off without the people who decided I wasn’t good enough. I lied when I told you that, and now I will continue to lie to myself everyday since you left, because it truly is easier to lie about missing someone than embracing the fact that there absence might just kill you.

I fought for our friendship. The one I used to brag about to my parents. The friendship that I used to dream about before I met you – the kind that you read about in books – the kind that you gave me, even if it was just momentarily. I stood my ground against my insecurities and doubts. I didn’t take the easy road and hide in my bed while I watched it wither away. Instead, I stood outside your front door pulling at any strings I could find, trying to tie a knot that would keep us together.

I won’t sit here and tell you that I remember the first day that we met, or the day that you became such a significant part of my life. Because it would probably be some fabricated story that I came up with in order to turn our friendship into some easily remembered fairy-tale.

But I will sit here and tell you that I am sorry. I’m sorry that we weren’t able to preserve a friendship that we swore would last a lifetime. And that when life threw obstacles in our path we settled down on opposite ends instead of hurdling over them so that we could sit together.

But mostly I am sorry that it’s 2 a.m. and that I no longer have my best friend.

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  • Jane.

One thought on “To My Nomad Friend.

  1. It’s a heartfelt piece of writing. And I know that you don’t like it when I comment on your blogs but I am unable to refrain myself this time.

    Mostly I am sorry that you have been hurt and people that you have loved and trusted have let you down. I know there is a crappy cliche out there somewhere that describes this and normalizes it though it escapes me right now. Like a momma bear I wish I could protect you from all of life’s hurts including the betrayal of a trusted love one. Sadly I can’t and all I have to offer is my support, a shoulder to lean on and a heart and soul that loves you like no other and always will (even when it is not physically available to you).

    You will find the strength to recover and with that the willingness to risk love and friendship again. It is one of life’s hardest things to do but perhaps the one that makes us whole and life worth living. Loving and trusting means taking a risk and at some point whether it is intentional or not we lose those we love and our hearts break into a million pieces. Sometimes those pieces and relationships find a way to repair and sometimes we need to find a way to treasure, celebrate and cherish the times when it was good. It hard but important to remember and rejoice the good times and memories even though they didn’t last near long enough.

    Just never give up, never let your heart harden, be open to new relationships and be open to forgiveness, second chances.

    And when you are hurting there is a wonderful piece of writing that a very wise young woman wrote called “love yourself first”. And never forget that you are worthy and you are loved and treasured.

    .

    Never shut your heart to forgiveness and always be open to love and friendship even though it often comes with hurt and betrayal. I can guarantee it that it is always worth it.

    There is a well known saying that ” it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved”. I know this to be true and I also know that good things can come from bad relationships and holding onto the good memories will in time make you smile and you will be able to appreciate the value of the relationship.

    Love you always and forever

    Mom Sent from my iPhone

    >

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