"Everything happens for a reason," you used to say, "Everything is by design."
If this is true, then how careless must our Creator have been?
Stars litter the sky, constellations flung with no care for where they would land. The blank canvas of the night is perfectly structured, clean and constant, yet the paint that decorates it is messy; it lacks attention and precision. Beautiful, but regretfully uncared for. He cared even less about us.
We used to be friends.
It hurts to even think.
Not two years ago we would have been lying here together, underneath the eternal oak tree, hands held together in a quiet declaration of our union. The closest of friends. Like sisters, you once said.
The tree is lonely now. He calls for you to return, misses the sweet lullaby of your voice. I sing to him sometimes, but I know it isn't the same.
Everything' changed now you're gone. Always empty, always tired. Even the birds seem to have changed their tune. I can't listen to them anymore, now that the bright songs they sang for us are gone. They sing only slow and sad songs now.
I wish you would come back. I want everything to be the way it was before. When every clap of thunder and shock of lightning only brought us closer together. When stories only brought us keen laughter and delight.
If only you would return, I would be happy again.
But I'm glad you left. It was best for you, right? You had to go somewhere where your songs could be sung in stadiums, where more than one person would listen to your stories.
I understand. I just wish you would've invited me.
Perhaps I was the one who drove you away. Maybe you realised that I cared for you much more than you cared for me. I may have been the reason you left.
If that's the truth, I'm sorry. Although, if it is, I doubt you will read a word of what I've written, or even stop to think of me again. Did I make you uncomfortable? Is this my fault?
I can't bear the thought. I'm sorry for every way I've hurt you. I'm sorry for not realising sooner that you weren't content. I'm sorry I ever failed you.
I just long for you to come back. It's an ache that fills my body and it never goes away. My heart is so tired and I feel tears ready to fall from my eyes at any moment. In every word I speak there is a prayer for your return.
It's selfish, I know, but I can't help it. I'm sorry.
I try not to cry for you, I know you'd hate that. When it rains, I pretend that the sky is crying for me. It helps to imagine that I'm not alone in my misery, that perhaps the clouds miss you as much as me. Of course they don't, but it can't hurt to pretend.
Don't come back. It'd be wrong of you to. I hope you're doing well, and I hope you've found the fulfillment you couldn't find here.
Please don't feel you have to write back out of pity. I would rather you ignore what I've said and forget that I exist. I want you to live your life.
I'm not sure how to end this, only by letting you know that this is the last time I will write, should you choose not to reply, and I pray, for your sake, that you forget about me.
I'll miss you.
---your oldest friend xx