I’ve already tried writing this out in my head many different ways, many different times. I’ve come to the conclusion that only a letter will do, because we started this summer together with a letter, and it’s fitting that we may end it with one, too. You said to me that it made you sad to read my blog and know that the references were for somebody else. You know that wasn’t always true, and this one’s just for you. You also kept saying throughout the summer that we should write a story together. That is exactly what we did.
No two people read a story the same way, and no one will ever understand ours the way that we will. No one else was there in person to see how the sun beams laid a gentle hand on your cheek when you turned to look thoughtfully out the window, coffee cup in hand. No one else has sat through the many cups of black coffee that we have, or shared our many, lengthy, inspiring conversations. No one else played chess in a graveyard with us, no one else sat through and enjoyed black and white vignettes with subtitles, or drove home in the dark with the windows down and the music way too loud, the car moving along to the rhythm of the song, with us singing to a vast and empty darkness, filling the silence with the lingering resonance of life. I could use all of the pretty adjectives and elaborate syntax techniques that I want to, but no one will ever understand our story like we will.
When it first began, I told you that I felt guilty. You had a girlfriend, and I felt like it was her that you should be sharing these moments with, not me. But you assured me at the time that everyone knew the truth of the matter, and it was completely platonic, and completely okay. Of course I could feel it when the atmosphere changed, and see it in your eyes when your attitude changed, every time. But I believed you when you assured me that it was fine, and took on an attitude as if it was. I thought we both knew that there are some things that linger in the back of your mind, and whether because they hid there, or because you pushed them there, that is where they stay. I think that you thought the same in the beginning, but you’ve been slowly changing your mind.
No one else will ever be able to understand the understanding and sadness that I felt when you told me that we should stop hanging out, as I sipped my bitter coffee. No one else will understand how beautiful the silence sounded when we danced in the kitchen of the closed coffee shop that night, how when we hugged, I was hugging you for everything, hugging you goodbye, or how beautiful the ceiling and the past looked while laying on the floor, your head heavy on my side. No one else will ever understand all of the emotions that flooded through me as we sat on the front porch in the dark, counting the seconds between cars, watching the embers of some wanderer’s cigarette grow bright and dim in the distance, and sipping sweet chai tea. No one else heard you say, “I think it’s nice when there’s nothing left to say, and…” Or me finish with, “Nothing left, and it’s okay.” No one else will know how that said it all.
My night was like my beverages – it was bittersweet. I’m sad that we won’t get to spend more time together in the future, but I’m glad that we spent the time together this summer that we did. The glossy tears in your eyes when you spoke to me convinced me that you felt the same. According to you, my biggest flaw is sentimentality, and it is the best flaw that I could have. I suppose you’re right, because it’s thanks to this flaw that I can say these things this way. It’s thanks to this flaw that I can tell you that we did write a story. Maybe there will be sequels, but only time can tell. You’ve been my best friend this summer. There are many things that I want to thank you for, but I think that thanking you for being my friend encompasses most of them.
No one else had to kiss you on the cheek and say goodbye, or watch you drive away, repeating in their head the mantra, ‘the only thing constant is change’. True friendships can be physically far apart, but they always remain close at heart.
There’s nothing left to say. Nothing left, and it’s okay.
Be happy, my friend.