I dreamed about you last night. I called you and you answered. We had the strangest conversation. Even in the dream we hadn’t spoken in over two years. The peculiarity of it all was so strong that I don’t think I made it on the phone with you for more than three minutes.
Funny, today I am in a coffee shop and I can’t help but think about you and your love for cozy places. The music that plays is the kind of music you would like. It has that folk feeling with a bit of soul and calm intermixed. I got the turmeric latte and instantly I’m with you at the Milk and Honey again in Brooklyn.
My heart is wrenched with grief. I keep telling myself it doesn’t matter anymore. I squeeze you out of my mind and again, you come back to me.
I always marveled at your beauty. From the loveliness of your hair to the kindness in your face, to the warmth of your gentle voice. The tears and sadness that swarmed down your cheeks as you felt like no one and nobody with nothing and no future. You were so private.
I often wanted to talk to you about your past, you didn’t seem to want too. I believed in you and filmmaking, you didn’t trust me. I cared about your computer that broke and I still want to send you money for the table that sits at my house but remember you were the one who decided probably with the help of your family to cut ties with me. How can I pay someone who deleted me from venmo even?
I told you I felt like we shouldn’t speak for a while because it didn’t make sense to me that you would suddenly harbor so much ill will towards me to the point that you went through periods of ignoring me for weeks. Then, when I came into town, you finally responded, “You left your shoes at my house if you want me to leave them outside for you.”
They say things can never go back to the way they were once a cutting off like this occurs. The trust is too far gone. I want you to know that I love you. We could never be the friends that we were because perhaps that wasn’t healthy. You needed to tell me what you needed, and I needed to listen and let you feel welcome. I was wrong in that regard.
I have been angry with you on and off for a while now. In the end, my mind fills with your laughter, your joy, your beliefs for the future, the hours we spent praying, the time when you hurt your foot and I carried all of your things up that five walk apartment in Harlem. I think of coffee shops in the morning, the Milk and Honey, I think of safety.
I was never out to get you, to be better than you, ahead of you. I want to confess one more thing to you, I never read that last text message you sent back.
It felt like it would be full of venom and I didn’t want to hate you. A whirlwind of the secret list that roamed inside of you unshared until you erupted. For it to burst through text message seemed wrong after so many years of friendship. Seven years and then a ghost.
I don’t really know what else to say except that I hurt sometimes for our friendship. I want to know how you are. I know it was easier for you to cut off people that you felt threatened by. It didn’t occur to me that this was your mode of being in friendships.
I hope you won’t leave every imperfect person that comes into your life, I hope you became everything you wanted.
I try to remember, I wasn’t abandoned, I was cut.