To my person,
I’d love to tell you just how adorable and in love you and J are, how I still envy the sweet names he calls you and the shameless kisses you two share when I’m right there. I’d love to tell you how much fun I have watching you text all throughout our girls’ night. “No it’s totally fine, you haven’t seen him in 24 hours! Totally reasonable.” I’d love to tell you that I admire how emotional you two are when you tearfully mourn your farewells, though you will undoubtedly have another date the very next day. I’d love to tell you that it doesn’t bother me that he probably knows more about you than I do, that you devote your time and your love to him now, not to me, the one person you have been able to trust and laugh with and shamelessly be weird around for the past eight years. I’d love to tell you that it’s ok that you forget about me. As your person, I would really really love to tell you these things. And I do tell you these things.
What I don’t tell you is that when he is in the picture, I get pushed to the background, in the corner behind the fern. Your life has shifted so much more rapidly than mine. The way you talk, the way you think, the way you act, the way you make me feel like I’m losing my Banannie to a world that I can’t keep up with. On one hand, I feel slightly pathetic. What to do with my life – I’m not as ambitious as you, I do fear consequences, and I don’t like to act like your stupid SF friends. On the other hand, I’m sincerely worried that our friendship is more of a fallback than a priority. And that scares the ever-loving fuck out of me.
I just miss you, and I miss the summer before 7th. That was the last time I felt like I still knew you.
You two are freakishly obsessed with each other, and it’s the weirdest relationship I’ve ever encountered. Hope you two are happy.