Spilling it out.

Friends aren’t perfect. A lesson I guess I learnt the hard way. And too late too. When two headstrong people get to be friends, with nothing more in common than that, the bond lasts as a strong one for maybe a few months, and then it weakens to the point that the friendship seems a burden more than anything else. And if the people involved are still trying to push it to work, they’re kidding themselves horribly.
Trust me, I know.
This one’s for a friend who made the right decision at the right time, before things got so sour that even I’d lose my temper, though she doesn’t know how thankful I am for that. I’m VERY patient, when it comes to people. She burst my bubble of stupid assumptions at such a point that it was neither too early nor too late. Another reason why I miss her. May be she even subconsciously knew that anymore of tagging along and we’d hate each other.
All those months we did know one another weren’t a farce. The friendship rose out of the need to find some sanity in the class of people who’d laugh at the most pervert jokes, a place to find comfort when Sirius Black was killed ruthlessly by Rowling, to fantasize about which one of us would marry which of the respective Adonis’s, perhaps a fictional Utopia we created comfortably to accommodate one another into our worlds. But fairy tales don’t have a happy ending real time. As much as I wanted to stay on as friends with that one person who could always guess what went wrong, and knew exactly what to say to get my back on the right track, I was kidding myself into trying make her my best friend, and trying to live out my dream of being her ‘ideal friend’ in turn.
But turns out neither of us were quite ourselves when we were with each other. Both had to watch our words just to make sure the other wasn’t hurt by them. Some thing I never thought she’d face and I can’t believe I was stupid enough to let happen to myself. But that’s the way it was. There were too many things that were slowly turning sour and constant eruptions of ‘“I’m-so-not-talking-to-you” “what-on-earth-did-I-do?”’ clouded the prospect of the friends-forever thing I had in mind. But I still didn’t have the pluck to let go.
To the friend I shall always respect for having broken the strings at the right cue, I still am disappointed that it should end this way. Had it been a little more amicable, perhaps I wouldn’t have to stare at the ground for those two-and half months you made me wonder if you could see me standing 3 feet from you. I can’t loathe you, no, because I’m just that way. Can’t hate anybody who’s made me stronger, and taught me so much by asking so less in turn, but I’ll still look forward to the time you can regard me as someone who existed in the same room as you did.
I’m glad you don’t feel the need of an apology, from either one of us to the other, because if we’re right in our own perspective, there’s no reason to be sorry.
I just want to thank you, for all the time you did spend happily with me, for making me a better friend to those who I know after that time you walked away, because even if I’m dyslexic when it comes to learning the more practical lessons in relations, I’m good at applying them, for everything that existed the time we’ve been friends.
And if we do meet at Malhar, I could wave at you and I’d be glad if you nodded in return.

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