There’s too many mental notes I’ve made on what I want to record down here. It is quite a momentous phase in my life. Not a boring year, thus far. Only one chance to write here before I get all taken up by the frenzy of the rest of my 2014, maybe.
Here goes : There is a person that I miss. Who I used to share almost every single thing. Who I love, very much like family, and sometimes even more so. This person, who has been more blood than blood to me ever since we first met. I didn’t get to share all my good news with him. He is alive, but our friendship is dead. His fault? My fault? Who knows. Much like a traffic accident, I go over and over the events of that day again, thinking whether it could have been different.
What if x wasn’t distracted by the phone?
What if y remembered to use the signal before the turn?
What if x is not too stressed out by the crying baby at the backseat?
What if y was not too late for work, which penalized employees for being late even 2 minutes into the official working hours?
What if there were witnesses to give a true and fair account of how it happened?
So many what-ifs. So is it fate, when things go bad? Was it never meant to be.. if it couldn’t stand this test, this time, was it even meant to be?
Maybe I’m not missing this person… but an image of him. We probably grew into two such different people, and at some point each just tried upholding the image of the persons that we used to be, for the friendship that we think we deserve if only we were those images. I don’t know. All I know is that there is a wide, gaping hole in the list of people that I need to talk to, and know what they’re thinking, and hear their thoughts and see their person for what they are. A monstrous aching hole in the list of people that I love, in the shape of someone out there, walking barely a postcode or two away, right here in this very same town.
I suppose it is what it is. What’s been said, has been said with such earnest conviction that I wonder if any friendship could survive that even if we were to seek each other to apologize. This is like a proper break-up, of fast friends rather than lovers, and I’m left with the all too familiar feelings that arise in the mundane routine post break : Should I go to our usual haunts? Should I be walking in the area where he lives? Does he know where I am? Does he think of me, when good things happen to him and when bad things happen? Does he wish me well, or wish me a slow anonymous death?
Maybe we will never know. Maybe we would when it’s much too late. All I know is that right here right now, I miss one of my best friends and it is partly my own fault.