To the friend I thought I knew

My friend,

In my younger days, I’d have died before admitting that you broke my heart. Too embarrassing to show that I cared so much, you know? Too vulnerable to let you see the amount of pain you’ve caused. Too humiliating to say aloud just how wrong I was about you.

Maybe it’s maturity or maybe I’m just too sad to care, but today, I’ll admit it: my heart is broken.

And it’s broken in a way I’ve never felt before.

I’ve grieved dead loved ones. I’ve watched friendships come and go. I’ve mourned a relationship with a man I thought I’d marry. Yet somehow I’m caught off guard by how deeply this loss has cut me.

We were friends for years. I’ve cried to you, laughed with you, and loved you as best I could. I thought we’d always be in each other’s lives, bonded by vulnerable moments and near-death experiences and so many wonderful adventures. I imagined the grown-up versions of us, married and settled. Our spouses would get along. Our kids would raise mayhem together. We’d have each other over for dinner parties and chat about life. And, one day, we’d reminisce over the days of our shared youth.

I feel like such a fool.

In what felt like the blink of an eye, you all but vanished. Calls unreturned. Texts unread. I’d blame it on the distance, but that would be naive.

Somewhere along the way, you made a choice. I don’t know when. I don’t know why. But you did, and it hurts like hell.

There’s a part of me ­— one of those corners left untouched by pride — that wants desperately to talk to you about it. I have so many questions. Did I do something that upset you? If so, why didn’t you talk to me about it? When did you stop considering me your friend? Did you not respect me enough to tell me, or did you just not care enough to try?

Then, there’s the other part. The angry part. The part of me that would love a chance to call you a coward and a liar to your face. The part that wants to rage whenever Noah Kahan comes on because it reminds me of Boston. The part that hates you for abandoning our friendship like it meant nothing to you — like I meant nothing to you.

I think that’s the part that hurts the most.

Please know that I don’t write this in hope of hurting you. Even if I did, I doubt you’ll ever read this anyway. But just in case you do, know that I’m writing this solely because there’s so much that went unsaid. So many unasked questions and so little closure.

I wish I could say that I wish you well. I hope that one day I will, and that God will grant me the strength to forgive what now seems unforgivable. For the time being, though, I’ll have to be content with sending this letter into the void and, occasionally, venting to the people who call themselves my friends and mean it.

And, through gritted teeth, I’ll be praying for you.

Your friend.