I miss having you as my friend. No one could make me laugh like you could. I’d jump up on a bench and sing Newsies while you watched and shook your head in amused exasperation. We’d climb on junglegyms and crawl through tunnels. You’d chase me, and tackle me, until I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. Sometimes I’d say something so asinine that you’d just stare at me like I’d grown two heads, correct me sarcastically, and then I’d burst into embarrassed giggles – but you never made me feel stupid, somehow. You brought out the fun in me, the child. I really miss that.
I know it’s my fault, what happened – and what didn’t happen – between us. I can’t explain it to you. I can’t even explain it to myself. Wouldn’t it make sense to fall in love with your friend? I’m sorry. I wish I had an answer for both of us. I made mistakes with you. A lot of them. And it’s too late to take it back. We can’t go back, and we can’t go forward. But I do think about you. I wish I could give you a hug and send you funny videos and poke at you until you growled at me. That’s not fair, though. It’s not. And I can’t ask for what you can’t give, either. But I really miss you.
I miss my friend.
I know you didn’t understand why I burned for the monster. Why I wept over him. Or maybe you did, because you saw my own monster. You saw me.
I want you to be happy. I want you to find the love you deserve. I want you to have a fairytale without blood, witch cottages filled with bones, nymphs disappearing into petals and leaves.
No matter what happens, I’ll always miss you. And I know it’s my fault. And I’m sorry.
Elisabeth Writing 