I am thinking of you right now.
I sit in my childhood bedroom, where we would have sleepovers every month. We would plan midnight feasts of our favourite snacks, tell each other stories and make our own ‘TV show’.
I remember when we became friends— we were seven and you were new to the school. I had the same name as your sister, and that was a reason good enough to be friends, to be inseparable. We read the same books, played the same online games and hosted tea parties for our Barbies in my dollhouse. We would watch High School Musical, print out the lyrics and sing all the duets as dramatically.
We liked the same things and that was reason enough to be best friends.
At some point, our conversations and jokes turned into long winded monologues about me, my life, my new school, my new friends, my boyfriends, my problems. You’d not really say much and I thought that was because I never let you speak, or was it because you had nothing to say. I don’t know. But I wish I did.
I remember crying to you, feeling lost, being angry, being confused. I remember being so deeply wounded, I remember laughing it off as it was a cruel joke. You sat in silence, or awkwardly tried to help. I knew you were trying but you really didn’t know how to comfort me. We were friends for more than half our life, best of friends even but I wish that was a reason strong enough to still be friends.
And I can never be angry with you, you outgrew me long before you realised and I didn’t see where I fit in your life. Talking to you felt like talking to a wall, and I could never really figure out what was in your head. But, I can never be upset by you, or hate you, and I would never ever say that you hurt me. In fact, you did nothing.
There was never really a reason for me to leave, but there wasn’t really a reason for me to stay.
My bedroom wallpaper is coming off, and the dollhouse is sent away. I sit at home alone, and I think about calling you some days. I doomscroll on Instagram, and you seem happy. You seem great. You seem like you love what you do. I really hope that is true. I hope you get your favourite flowers in your house, and paint your favourite things. I hope you find someone you can dance around the kitchen and sing silly duets with.
I hope you find someone who loves you completely, who understands you, who comforts you. I hope you find that friend for you, where you never have to look for reasons to be best friends. I hope you share your favourite books with them. I hope you laugh with them, make jokes with them, I hope you confide in them.
I hope you love them openly, as you are. I hope they get to know you truly, in a way perhaps I never did.
by Disha Takle