I want you to know that I miss you. I wish we could be friends although I know that’s not possible. I despise the way you treated me. And I hate myself for mistaking you for someone who cared over and over again. I’m relieved that you’re not in my life. I don’t understand why I worry about you or why I want to hear from you. It’s some deluded part of me that’s broken and I don’t know how to fix it. It’s tied to a lot of questions about my identity and my place in the world. I’m working hard to be respectable and I know you are too. But these questions are the shameful sort that you’d tuck away under the loose floor board in your closet. Oddly they were the ones I thought would be answered if we were together. And what better way to build a future other than emptying out some of your most disconcerting insecurities? But you didn’t see any of that. Nor did you want to see it. Now we don’t need to be friends, or a part of each other’s lives. We can feign apologetic about forgetting each other because of the time and distance spent ignoring each other. I’m looking forward to the day when my thoughts stop echoing your name.