losing faith

I am irritated because I think she is back in town (from Canada), and I am irritated because I think she called me today, but I couldn’t get a hold of anyone when I returned the call (I surmise it was her number and that I have her number in my phone backwards an 8 and a 3, so it didn’t register as her calling… then again it could’ve just be a WILDLY WEIRD wrong number).

I wrote this two years ago, so change the “6s” into “8s,” and so on.  I could add more to this, but I won’t.  I think it says how I feel still, more or less.  Losing friends sucks.  I wish it were easier to just get back people you love.

I have been feeling awfully nostalgic lately.  I have a strong desire to reconnect (in an unobtrusive way, such as a letter) with an old friend I haven’t spoken to in over 6 years who was my best friend for 9 years of my life.  I still read her blog.  She writes heartfelt, meaningful text–something I always wanted to do.  I think we are more alike now than we ever were growing up together. We even worked at the same job, 8 months apart.  We also seem to share similar thoughts about the job itself.

She is perhaps the only friend I have ever lost that I still genuinely regret losing.  She is the only one for whom I still have tears to shed.

I want to tell her how much life has changed since we last exchanged words, what deep footprints she left in my heart, how her rhetoric lights up my life just like her poetry used to (and how intensely I miss her crititques of my poetry; I have written no more than 20 poems in the past 6 years, which is notable), how glad I am that the person who tried to kill her was unsuccessful because, among a great many other things, I would be devastated to lose the opportunity to attempt to make amends for what happened between us and whatever hand I had in causing it.

I don’t want to sound like I stalk her.  I don’t.  But I do think about her just about every day–she left a huge impact on my life growing up.  I spent the majority of my childhood talking with and spending time with her, and when she moved to Texas, I pinched pennies to afford the long-distance phone calls and wrote her novels for letters.  She was not quite as enthusiastic about letter-writing as I was, but she still heartily replied.  When she returned here, we called each other nearly daily and spent time together as often as we could.  We read the same books, devised “secret societies” (but only the innocent kind), and she inspired in me a robust imagination I have never had since.  Of course our relationship wasn’t perfect.  We got into some of the nastiest spats I’ve ever gotten into with a friend, but we always recovered.  Except that one time in October 2006 when she said I was too high maintenance and never spoke to me again.  I somewhat understand why she said what she did, but it still baffles me that that decision on her part has led to permanent silence.

In one of our last conversations, she strongly encouraged me to attend the college I went to, since she had visited the school.  I begged her to come to college with me, but she relayed that it was perfect for me but not for her since she had other things in mind.  I heeded her advice and I am continually glad I did, though I doubt she fully knows I decided to go there or how influential she was in helping me decide.  I would trust her with just about anything.  She was what Anne would call my “bosom friend.”

I simply wanted to let her know my thoughts, but a letter seems most nonconfrontational.  A phone call, e-mail, text message, or Facebook message is an irritation you almost MUST respond to.  And when it isn’t responded to, it hangs there awkwardly for the sender.  A letter, at the very least, can be appreciated for what it is and for the effort expended to produce it.  The main problem remains that I don’t exactly know her address.  I believe I know her parents’ address, but whether or not she still resides there is unknown to me–it has been 6 years, after all.  I supposed I could send it there with instructions to forward to the correct address if that is not it, or to not sign the letter and see if she even remembers me.  Sometimes I wonder if she does.  Mostly, I am concerned that I sound obsessed.

I guess I just think that if we could have met for the first time tomorrow, we would be really good friends, and I feel somewhat sorry to have missed that opportunity.

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