PROMPT: Write a letter to someone who isn’t in your life anymore. 

 1. I wished I could have told you that I missed you too. Suitcase in one hand, my feet on the edge of stairs - ready to go but not quite yet. Your hands were on the rails and you said it so easily: I missed you. 

Remember that time when you were swinging my bag around your arms? The sunlight made your skin look golden. You had your sleeves stretched out, your thumb always pulling the bands lower to hide your worst insecurities. The insecurities you say that don't bother you, the ones you only tell me about when we're alone. You asked me if I really had to go, if I could stay with you for a bit longer. Or if you could walk me home, swinging my handbag side to side as you listen to all my stories. I wished I said yes, stayed in the company of you when you were at your happiest. I miss those days, when you had your radiant grin and another joke up your sleeve. I really do. 

I miss your laugh the most. You always made jokes about how our laughs balanced each other out, with my high pitched squeals and with your low pitched chortles. You always had something incredibly stupid to say whenever I said something funny; you'll say my name and exagerate all the syllables, and then you'll tell me that you hate me even though I know you don't. Sometimes, in the middle of your laughter you'll tell me how much you love me. I wished I could have told you this, how much I hated your laugh and how it made me feel; warm as if I was drowning in sunlight. It made me feel safe, like nothing else mattered but you. Even if I had the worst day, it wouldn't have mattered - because you laughed your radiant grin in that horrible way that makes me feel safe. 

It always amazed me when you laughed, how beautiful you can truly be. I'd think to myself; I'm over the up's and down's of your moods, of your constant pulling and then drawing away, of how you come in waves, of how sometimes I'm your favourite person and then suddenly I'm no one at all to you. But then you'll always rudely interrupt my promises to myself with a laugh. I always fall back into that pattern, drawn back into you like you're my favourite bear trap.

Maybe I should have been clearer - maybe I should have told you I missed you, stayed with you a little longer and told you how beautiful you are when I still had a chance. The only way I knew how to tell you that I cared was by making you laugh. If I had told you, if I had said something different or stayed with you longer, maybe you would have been able to trust me enough to let me help you. 

2. Thinking about you makes me feel like I’m rolling a dice. 

The dice lands on a number between 1 to 3. It means that we aren’t friends any longer because of your own insecurities. You always thought you were better than me. It killed you to see me succeeding. It brought up all the things you were afraid of - if you weren’t the smartest girl in the room, who are you? Who are you, if the cheerful idiot you befriended is now ‘better’ than you? You’ve always used these meaningless competitions to make yourself feel better.

I should have seen it coming. You compared yourself to every girl on Instagram, filtering your own photos until you were just as pretty as the girls you looked down at. You’ve always told me stories about your friends, how they’re not as smart or as pretty as they seem. And on the rare occasion I did better than you, you’ll always remind me of how easy my life is compared to yours. 

Aren’t you tired of this? The constant running from your own insecurities? Of injecting your own fears onto others? The upturned nose? Did it hurt when someone won in your one sided games? It must have felt like a knife: who stuck it in? You or me? 

The dice lands on a number between 4 - 6. I had asked you why you’ve been ignoring me ever since we’ve gotten our grades back. You tell me that we’re not on the same frequency, that we’ve never been on the same page about anything and that it was tiring you out. You don’t know how to say anything to me. 

You said you’re too worried to offend me - and I told you in a tone that sounded like begging that I never cared about being offended. 

I told you about all of my friends who have never been politically correct and you told me that you weren’t them, that you can’t ever say what’s on your mind with your chest. 

I don’t know if you worry too much about the consequences 

Or if it was my fault, your idiotic friend, who never questioned what was truly on your mind.  

The stupidest part? I didn’t even know you felt that way until it was too late. It wasn’t until someone told me about all the petty comments you make about me or until I confronted you when I found out the truth. I’m sorry I made you feel that way. 

Whenever the dice falls on anything between 1 - 3, I feel sorry. I’m sorry for letting you think you were better than me and I’m even more sorry for you that you think everyone in your life is in a competition with you. There was never a race, it was all in your head. 

Whenever the dice falls on anything between 4 - 6, I still feel sorry. I feel sorry for letting you feel that way, for never asking you what’s truly on your mind. 

I don’t know if I’m rolling a dice, or if I’m spinning a spinner with a knife instead. 

The knife will glint and point to whoever is to be blamed. 

Let the murder begin; let’s cut off all the parts of ourselves that make us horrible. 

3. I am constantly waiting for you to slip up. 

If I let my mind slip back - just for a moment - into the shadows, the memories hit me like I’m being stoned. 

Footsteps. 

One creaky board. 

The moonlight streaming through curtains. 

The feeling that I’ll never be enough, never enough to keep your moods right. 

I’ll always slip up and you’ll slip from adoring to angry like you’re switching a mask. 

It feels like I never know you in these moments. I am constantly on the edge, watching every word I say just in case it’s enough for you to slip up and then blame it all on me. 

You always say you’ve changed. You aren’t the same person. You know how to use your words now, know how to hurt people in other ways. You know how to control your anger. You know how to stop blaming, stop placing all of your problems and anger at the world onto me. 

I am still on edge. 

I know the world has been harsh on you, and I am sorry for that, but I’m not the world. I’ve never hurt you and I never will. I’m sorry that I once was a scapegoat for all your blame and insecurities. I’m sorry I let you treat me like that.   

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I keep on thinking of alternative worlds. 

I draw them up in my head. 

They act like mirrors to our world: everything is near identical except for a few details:

You tell me what’s on your mind. 

You let me love you. 

You let me forgive myself. 

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