The letter came in the mail, just after I had put one of my own in the mail to you. My letter apologized for not being able to come visit. Your letter came with a declaration.
You decided, that after seven years of friendship, laughs, dances, arguments and apologies, you had enough. You didn’t want to see me, talk to me, laugh with me, dance with me—ever again. You told me never to contact you ever again—and in fact, the letter that I sent before I got yours returned to me unopened, with that “Return To Sender” designation all over it. I wish I had the chance to ask why. Or at the very least a chance to offer a defense—to what or for what, I don’t know—to try and convince you to reconsider.
In a “my way or the highway” move, you pushed me aside and turned me away. And gave up on seven great years. While there were some disagreements, and some rough spots, we always seemed to get back together. The weird part about this final parting is that I still don’t know why it happened. I look back over what I might have done or said, and I can’t find anything to make you decide you were better off cutting me out of your life altogether. What’s worse is I never got the chance to say goodbye.
A few years ago, I thought I had found you on Facebook; or at least I hoped I had. So I sent a friend request. Whether it was or not I don’t know, but the request was ignored. I suppose I will never know if it was you. If it was, and you had accepted, I would have asked what made you change your mind? What made you lock the door to keep me out? Why did you decide I didn’t have a place in your life, or your heart, anymore?
What I do have left are memories: the message you wrote inside the book of Shakespeare’s complete works that you gave me for Christmas; the times you came up from Virginia to visit; the one trip you congratulated me for my school board appointment even though you had class the next day; the fun we had at parties, and my visits to see you while you were in law school. All the laughs we shared and the good times (and there were many more of those than the bad times). The time we danced to Prince ’til the wee hours of the morning.
But I don’t have you here to talk about it. And no way to contact you just to say hello, or see how you are.
It was all right there in front of me; within arm’s reach. When you decided to take all of it away, I never saw it coming.