To my friend, A.

It's going to be two years soon. Two since we've last spoken. We were friends. And yet, I still thought of you as one after all this time. You may've hated me and resented me throughout the years, but that couldn't make me care about you any less.

Because at one point in life, I've also resented you. For the things left unsaid and the things that I couldn't keep in. The wait was prolonged for too long, but I wanted to be your friend for a while longer. I had ignored my own envy and bitterness as much as I could, of the things I couldn't do. But I laughed and spoke with you all the same. Those memories, for all I've ever known, are as real as the nostalgia I've felt for every moment that we've had.

Because- emotions aside, you grew up in places where I couldn't. And I wanted to pretend that the memory was still there, that we were still making jokes and trying to make each other laugh, brainstorming ideas and coming up with the goofiest scenarios for our ocs.

Perhaps we just don't click anymore like we used to. Maybe it was just me who didn't feel the same because I gradually lost my spark. You grew up and I couldn't. You moved on, but I couldn't. Even now, that invisible pain I feel is there. As raw and as open as I remember it. More bittersweet than actually spiteful. Because the only reason why I even resented you was because I was afraid of change. That if I said anything, I would have to reap what I've sowed and accept the consequences. Nowadays, change is inevitable and I must keep gritting my teeth to create change and create some more to find some normalcy somewhere in the new.

But more than anything, some part of me strongly knew that I was holding you back. From exploring new things, to seeing new things, to connections that you were taking from granted during the times that you knew me. I'm probably projecting too strongly, who gave me the right to decide for you that you need change? Maybe the bottom line is that what you've done were things that I never admitted I didn't like. There's a lot of things you did that I didn't like and there were a lot of things I did that you didn't like. By the end of the day, some of that was always left unsaid in favor of making you/me happy.

I'm sorry it had to end like that. I encouraged you to seek newer paths and got too eager in wanting the best for you that it hadn't clicked on me that you may have wanted the same for me too. I've kept myself in such a toxic environment for so long and only realized too late that I hate change because I don't want to keep regretting any mistakes I'd make. But likewise, I can only press forward now.

So, what's the point of this letter if you're never going to read it? Heh, well. We did write each other our first letters and exchanged them when we met up for the first and final time. This is just a letter to tie up some loose ends as a marker that my hurt is still here.

It hurts. But not just because of the memory of you. I still feel hurt because I'm still here. Letting everything else hurt me. But time waits for no one. And all that I'm waiting for is the proof of where I'm at in the next 5 years from now.

Would I write my next letter to you like this by the 2nd or 3rd year from now? Have I learned to drive yet? Did I swallow my fear and finally get employed for the first time in my life?

Would I be writing my final letter to you when I'm on the brink of my death bed?

Case in point. How could I ever so easily forget someone like you? Years from now, I may have moved on. Or maybe even, I hadn't forgiven you like I hadn't forgiven myself. But even then, I know that I'd still be trying countlessly time and again to follow your advice and be nicer to myself because you insisted in it absolute.

You may have thought after all this time, from the fights and disagreements we've had, of the impression that I've hated you. For getting up and leaving. For finally having enough and leaving you be. You deserved better. You still deserved better. Everyone is capable of change regardless of who they used to be and where they were.

I don't regret walking away. Don't get me wrong. It hurt like hell. For the longest time, I felt like I was being replaced because it felt like a repeat of the time when I had essentially taken over for your former best friend when she couldn't be there for you. But even so, making the decision to walk away was one of the hardest things I had to do, and you may have felt just as torn in deciding to cut her off. Because for the longest time that I've known you, you are considerate of others. And you take the time to find the words and stressed over even the smallest of things. You were already ahead of me in knowing directly how change deeply affected you.

I've detached myself from hurt that change doesn't quite register as quickly to me. Much akin to time blindness. But after having grown less interested in things I used to enjoy so much, everything around me has gotten much slower now. I'm more aware of how life passes around me and I don't hate it. It just sucks that I have less of an urge to pick up a pen while the ideas are bouncing off my head.

How long will I be writing this letter now? I should wrap it up now. I wish you well A.

End of Letter. Tilirus.