Dear the boy in the mickey hat,
It’s been a while since we really talked and I know why. I broke your heart without even knowing I did. I didn’t believe it because the only person who told me it was true was, well, a bit of a dramatic gossip. It really wouldn’t have changed how things worked out. I meet him and feel for him harder than you would know. I guess if I had known I would have told you differently, not lead you on, even though neither of us “wanted” anything, the subtext was there. I always denied any feelings I had because the first night I met you I watched you make 3 or 4 girls who were hopelessly falling for you cry. I vowed never to be that girl, and you did make me that girl. But you didn’t know that.
When I meet him I felt something I never had before. Nothing would have stopped me from falling for him, even if you and I had been together for real. I love him more than you will ever know, and I knew I would feel this for him the second I met him. He makes me happier than a monkey stuck in a banana tree. But when you found out you didn’t care that I had met the love of my life, who I fell in love with more and more each day even after being half way around the world for 3 months. Trust me he’s not perfect. But he’s perfect for me, and that’s what matters. No, you only cared that I thought you were “fucked up” or that I judged you. None of this is true, and when I tried to tell you you didn’t listen because you were so wrapped up in your own bullshit. It wasn’t that he was perfect and you were not, just the power of love.
But I’m over that.
I guess what I felt for you was never love in the sense of what I feel for him, it’s more of a caring, like how a doctor cares about a patient. Sometimes, it happens to go a little deeper, where you grow to befriend that patient. You develop a deep, intimate friendship. Even if you don’t see each other for a while, you hope they are happy, safe, that they succeed in life, love, work ect. You care about that person, think of them from time to time, but really they don’t affect your life unless they are pushed in front of you.
Which is why tonight when I saw your roommate it made me think of you.
We talked for a while, avoided the subject of you because, well that’s just awkward. When you did come up, I asked about your girl. I know the last time we talked you weren’t too happy with her, but I was hoping it got better. She seems like such a nice girl, and you should be lucky to have her in your life.
The reason I am writing this is not because of her or of me or that I miss you or anything like that. Your roommate told me you were using again.
Why did this affect me so much?
I’m still asking myself the same question. I guess it bugs me that I always thought you had beaten it, that you were the exception to the drug addict rule; that you were truly over it. I told my judgmental friends you were an “ex” addict, to which they responded “once an addict always an addict”. I didn’t listen to them, saying that no matter how fucked up you were you would never resort back to h. That w, a, and c were enough to keep you from going really hard again.
I guess I’m disappointed.
Disappointed that my exception to the rule, my friend who was done with that shit was actually living proof that the rule exists. It makes me sad to think about how someone I once believed in and who had conquered something impossible actually didn’t do anything at all; except prove all the critics right.
The same way that doctor is sad when their friend patient dies.
But I can’t say that. Not to your face. I told myself I would stay out of your life so I wouldn’t hurt you anymore. To prevent myself from being hurt again by your foolish antics.
I guess I just lost hope that people could change for the better.
I hope you can get over this, and stay off of not just h, but the booze and all the other things you use to fill that hole in your life that, apparently, only h can fill.
But to be honest, I’ve lost faith that you will.
Goodbye my dear friend.
-The girl with the guitar