I’ve been sitting on that letter I wrote for A for days now. I have this picture in my head of how I want it to go:
It’s her birthday on the 26th. I thought I’d time the sending of the letter and a small, heartfelt gift to arrive in the general direction of that day. She opens it and tears up about it. We call eachother and apologize for not being better friends. Then we make plans to call or write eachother fairly regularly and have an annual getaway so this doesn’t happen again.
I’m not sure that’s what really happens, I guess that’s why the letter is still here. I’m not sure that the time apart has changed anything, and I don’t want to reconnect with her unless I’m fairly sure it did. There is too much going on in my messed up little head to bring down that kind of hurt on myself again. The hurt from being left behind.