Young Writers Society

Maybe you’ll read this, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll wonder what happened—what went wrong. I don’t think it can be followed to a certain date or time in our young histories, but although I can’t tell you the “when,” I do know the “why.”
I changed. You didn’t. I had some growing up to do, and you decided you didn’t want to come with me. So here I am, thinking about you again, listening to Rocky Raccoon and fondly remembering us laying on our backs in the motionless elevator as you played it or me for the first time. We realized that “high” is a very relative term indeed and then we laughed about it for a bit too long.

You blazed my musical trail for me that day, and please believe me when I say that I will forever cherish that. No matter how much I grow to dislike you, no matter how many times you lodge that old knife into my back, I’ll always have that memory to look back on and remind myself that the decision I made in befriending you wasn’t worthless.
I really do wish the best for you in this life you’ve decided not to leave. I hope you finally find someone who thinks you’re worth their love. And not just their physical love—their heart and soul love. I think everyone deserves that. Even you.
Maybe you’ll read this and wonder if it’s about you. And if you ask me, like the good friend I’ve always been to you, I’ll say no, of course not. But you’ll know the truth. And maybe the silence that follows my wet paper lie will send the message I haven’t been brave enough to vocalize. I’m ready for the future now. And although we swore to be the exception, I’ve made up my mind that you won’t be the best friend who comes with me into my future.
I truly am grateful for the times we had. And there was a point when I would not have hesitated in naming you as my best friend. But that time is over, and maybe if you read this, you will finally realize that and stop trying to relive sentiment.