I have loved you since I was 12. I remember very little of that time in my life, but I have snippets of our friendship that developed before we became more. We had four years where our worlds only connected with us – we didn’t share any friends, we didn’t go to the same school, our parents didn’t know each other. There was nothing except our connection. It seems so unlikely now, looking back, that we maintained such a close friendship at a time where relationships are so fickle; other friendships were being made and broken over who you sat next to at lunch, and other silly teenage worries. But we did.
We used to talk for hours and hours on the phone, about our lives, my boyfriend dramas, or the veritable harem of girls who followed you around. We talked through your parent’s divorce, grandparent deaths, important exams. We talked until my parents cut the phone line, then we texted until my mother screamed at me to stop the clicking through the wall. I remember ringing you from a family holiday in Scotland to talk to you, being so desperate to have that connection with you. We spent hours on msn messenger too, spilling our hearts about the secret things we couldn’t put words to.
We probably talked more in those friendship years than we ever have in the 7 years of our relationship. Perhaps that is where we went wrong.
I came home from work tonight, just before midnight, stressed and upset and needing a chat. We sat and talked for a few minutes, but you’re preoccupied with your new purchase for your hobby, and you’re not interested in my life anymore. You were short with me, wanting your sleep. I miss who you were. I miss that boy who would talk and listen for hours.
I don’t want to lose our friendship. When I move out in a few weeks, will we be able to chat again? To share again? To take pleasure in the excitements in our lives, to reassure each other about our fears, to be a confidante and companion. I am scared that young boy grew up into a man that doesn’t remember anymore what it was lie to listen and talk. I am scared of losing you. I miss that boy. x