Turnstile.
Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if I had taken you up. After all, we were close, best friends, and we shared bonds, jokes, trust and love. But I doubt that it could have escaped your attention that it would never have worked, never have happened.
You see, you were never my 100%. Even from the beginning, you must have known that.
At that moment, did you want to claw the words back into you? Did you wish you had kept everything inside, even though it was eating you up? Did you want to take it back and for everything to be the way it was, to know that even if I didn't feel the same way for you, I would still be willing to talk to you? I heard from your friends that you felt that if you had kept it inside, you would have imploded, so you said it and then everything fell apart. I can't help but wonder which would have been the better option to take.
I see pictures of you, on her journal, and my stomach hurts and twists at the same time, gut-wrenching pain, as the cliché goes. I don't quite understand what i feel towards you; regret? anger? hatred? resentment? all of the above?
I think you expected our friendship to end, I think you expected a strain to come between us. But did you know that I would stop being friends with her too? The both of you were together so often, the "golden couple", the couple who would have probably been voted to "get married together and have fifteen babies" in the yearbook; it would have been impossible to see her face and not yours as well. I could not pretend to be happy when all I could think about was how you had betrayed her, betrayed us all.
Bit by bit, I let what we had between all of us fade, until you and her were strangers to me, like what we had had never been there at all. Do I have regrets? Plenty. But I think you have more.
What surprises me is how readily she took you back, how easily you slipped back into what you had with her. Then again, perhaps it didn't really shock me as much as I thought. It would have been the best option, to crawl back to what you both knew, the mindless routine of endearments, the sugary springtime romance. And for that, I hate you. Your so-called "niceness" is what hurt everyone most in the first place.
Despite the hugs and the promises I made about being friends with her again, I couldn't help but mistrust you, and mistrust her motives. Did she really want to be friends again, or did she just want to placate you? I knew, afterall, that she would have done anything for you. There was a wall between us. It's been months, and still, I haven't moved, because I don't want to anymore. I don't know what might happen, rather not know, rather leave the wall there than give us a try again.
What I have more than anything, are questions, to which I never want the answers.
On September 4th, I will board the plane that will take me to my new life, and that will be when I burn you, her and us out, once and for all. From then on, I will nod my head at you if I met you on the street, but nothing more. I will never speak to you again. No hard feelings, I hope you understand.
Finally, I'm sorry I didn't get to see you before you left, and I thank you for wishing me happy birthday. She didn't.