I know. I knew, even though I said I felt I simply had a feeling.
I know what your hopes are. I've been there from the start for all of them, to hear them change a hundred times, to support their instant creations, their unpredictable existences, to empathize with the feelings you felt that led to them, to discuss the theories you had for each event, each condition, each saddening occurrence, each unexpected joy, and to take the blame for all of them when you decided they were all my fault, or to commend you when you just knew they would work and that you were right.
Because I've been with you. I always have been. I know you. I know.
I know I'll never allow you or anyone to end a chapter of a friendship with a disappearing act, to try to segue to the next part of our relationship with the illlusory, unprovable text message presumably unreceived, and to begin a new day believing that while new, exciting prospects may be favorable today, should the bottom drop out tomorrow I'll be there as I always have. I hope only that he's everything the everything I have been wasn't, and that he's nothing the nothing so many others had been were.
Because I'm no longer with you. I never will be again. I've forsaken many things being there for you while the returns, quite frankly, have been heavily imbalanced and, to my discredit, always known to be, though my hopes, in friendship and love, have been high. I'm not assigning blame nor seeking resolution; I'm saying it's time for me to go. And I don't think you'll miss a thing, should it ever occur to you, based upon and despite your sterile platitudes and technically polite words last evening, which demonstrated fourteen years of depth, friendship, and meaning deserved only your shallow, friendly, unmeant best wishes.
I know, I know. And somehow I always knew, even though I hoped it was simply a feeling.
