2amtomorning [__escapist]

I suppose we stand somewhere between the terms stranger, acquaintance, ex-lover, friend. Somewhere between that vast distance (and yet, utter closeness) that separates and merges the four categories, we glide like ghosts, moving backwards and forwards according to time and memory. It’s easier to pick up the phone now that we’re relatively on speaking terms. Except there’s that dilemma of what the hell there is to say. I finally watched that movie you loved, the sky looks awfully pretty today, the way my father looks these days makes me feel like crying, does your mother still make you feel like all you've done since the day you were born was disappoint her, isn’t it tragic that smoking makes so many people sad. Random observations and feelings that we know the other would fully understand because we were holding hands when the events that led up to it happened. I told you how afraid I was that my father would burn himself out trying to keep so many people safe and happy. I was there when you tried to quit. You wouldn’t shut up about that stupid movie. My arms were wrapped around you that one time we saw the sun set. So these thoughts and feelings don’t seem so random after all - but they are. You haven’t been in my life. I can’t just pick up the phone and call. Or blurt it out on the rare occasions we pass and say hello on the street in this claustrophobic city. And we are afraid, of course. Of wounds that never seem to heal. Of rubbing salt into them, or revealing one we never knew we had. I tried, you know. I tried a dozen times. I almost sent you texts. I almost called.

I wanted to see you. I always changed my mind.

This is my open letter to the friend who is close by, but is also so very, very, very far away. This is everything I can’t bring myself to say. I hope you’re doing wonderfully. May your life be blessed, and may you always believe in the wonderful, strong, courageous person that you are.