An [Open] Letter Of Goodbye

Hi.

How are you? Hope you’re doing okay. Really. I never could gather any conclusions from our brief SMSs here and there, which always ended with a bit of anger, on my side at least. I do not know if you’re fine, but I genuinely hope you are.
How was the trip out of town the other day, good? Hope you got some stuff out of your system; if I know you, and I think I do, you’ll bounce back easily any time. I bet you already have a couple of things going on, and on the verge of moving to a new place. You’ll always have your friends, and certainly an assortment of men who adore you, for your comfort, joy, and happiness. You will always have that unbreakable self-confidence, and that ultimately charming smile.
With you, it was never about recovery, bouncing back and all. It’s about the wounds inside. If somebody does you harm, you never forgive them. Well… I can’t say I really forgive anyone, but I’d like to think that when I finally understand the big picture, usually I can let it go and let life go on. Life is too short; and although my heart is big enough to love the world (or so I’d like to think), it’s too small to hold in hatred or longing of revenge, to anybody.
I cannot say that we have been friends (or maybe had been, would be more appropriate to your perspective) for a long time; around 6 months to be exact. In those 6 months, we have been with each other almost every day, from just eating out at lunch, to sneaking out to watch a movie when work got boring, looking (and daydreaming) at electronics and other sorts of stuff, and dinner at insignificant places. I was always suprised at how somebody who claims to be as sophisticated as you are, never minded going to the places I went, and never was very fussy (when you can be very fussy). You loved talking about your thoughts, your dreams, to the point that I thought you were a pompous ass, but then again, I adored you for it. You always had these dreams on making it big and how to do it, and I never had the heart to shoot down those ideas, although that’s what I usually do. When you talked about your dreams, your eyes lighted up with more life and passion, and I adored that too.
You never really talked about work, you just talked more of the people who you worked with. Alhthough I saw some fault in how you sometimes handled situations (and the people involved), I never had the heart to say something, because I figured you knew better anyway, and who am I to give you advice? You were otherwise pretty secretive about your work, even scolding me when I let it slip to another friend of yours on where you worked. So I never knew what was going on, and I didn’t think it was my business either, when you didn’t talk about it to me. In hindsight, perhaps I should have made it my business, and you’d still be here.
You always talked about all these men you dated, a guy from here, or there, or wherever… and at one part, I never knew why you consistenly shared all this with me, on the other hand, I always knew it was just part of your daily game of flirting. You big flirt. And yes, I adored that too… I had always wondered on when the game would stop and you’d just be yourself with me; sometimes you were, but at other points, the game was on again, and I don’t like to lose. Believe me, I knew all the moves, and I laughed inside when you still made them. I even adored that. It went to show that the game was more important to you than any actual progress on any front.
To a point, you could become unconciously childish, and bottom line, I guess that was the paradox that I adored most, you being the outwardly mature person you are.
Since I more or less understood you, I adored you, but maybe not enough, since I did not care to point out what I thought was wrong in your ways (although on some points I did, out of utter frustration of your consistent game-playing). I never liked on how you treated some people, and your absolute refusal to withdraw to a more accomodative stance (but I do remember one instance, where if I may pride myself, I finally was able to formulate the right words to give input without breaking your ever-high pride). I never liked on how you sometimes treated me, but since I knew why you did it, I forgave you, and adored you still. Deep down inside, I wanted to be patient enough for you to see with your own eyes, the error of your perspectives; well, at least how I see them wrong… that’s why it was important for you to find out and see for yourself, and not having me tell you everything. You never ever listened to me, did you? And I even adored that, and I knew in the end you would listen to me anyway, only depended on when you finally did.
I am not suprised that instead of asking yourself some hard questions, you channeled (and still channel) your anger and frustration to me, and to other people. Well, I could tell you whatever I could figure out from the aftermath, but then again, that all could be just assumptions; only you yourself eventually should know what went wrong. I could spend days arguing with you what I thought went wrong, I can picture it now; you’d always be on the defensive, and I’d spend my time repeating and rewording my thoughts and explanations. It would be worth it, but only if you hear me out. Sometimes you just have to stop being angry, stop arguing, listen, and then think it over. You have not given me that chance, and I don’t think you ever will. As time goes by, you’d pretend it didn’t happen on the surface, but remember in intricate detail of everything that occured.
I worry about you, you know. There was always that feeling that you were hiding something from me, but I could always smell people burying problems a mile away. You never shared, and I understood, you didn’t have to. Didn’t make me stop worrying about you. Now after all that has happened, I worry about you more.
Let’s get one thing straight: of course, as a warm-blooded man, I had an occasional attraction to you, as you are very attractive; but I never thought of it further than that. The fact that I didn’t think you were ready for a real relationship made our connection more to friends, best friends perhaps. In my book, maybe not exactly best friends, as although I knew how you were, I didn’t know why you were; I hardly knew your history, your pain, your joy. I only knew that you needed to be loved, cared for, and I willingly gave what I have with patience, hoping it would help. I’m not so sure it did.
I’m not so sure I had an effect on anything, since in your mind, I know that you think of me as just one of those men who had a crush on you and turned around to hurt you. Well, you can forget about the crush, and you can forget about the hurting part, too. I know, inevitably, that my non-action contributed to your hurt, but in all plausible scenarios, there was nothing I could do. It pains me to think that you hate me, if I can use the extremities of the word ‘hate’ to describe what you feel, but there’s no other way, either…
Although I still miss you terribly, and I worry about you, I see no point in continuing to do so, as you do not appreciate me, appreciate what we have been through, and appreciate what I did for you. Before you do, I cannot call you friend anymore. Although it pains me to do so, I am writing this to say goodbye. Goodbye. If we meet again, hopefully everything will be in a better situation, but until then, I vow to stop missing and worrying about you.
Please remember to take care in what you do, and to treat people with love and appreciation. I don’t guarantee that people will love and appreciate you back, but at least the effort would make it worthwhile anyway.
May you find the way that’s best for you.

Goodbye.

About barijoe

Failed Musician, Reformed Gadget Freak and Eating Extraordinaire.

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