“It Ain’t Me.”
This is a break-up letter to my so called “best-friend.” I hope you enjoy, even though this will be something you never read. This was a slow realization, that you had only been making me feel like garbage the past few months. You’ve given me many tear filled nights, a heart full or anger, and a heavy weight on my shoulder. Do I let you go or do I hold on? Sometimes holding on feels like the riskier decision, that I shouldn’t cause myself so much pain when you live in happiness. You tell me I am not good enough for your other friends, then you tell me that you have no time to see me. At first I thought I was being childish, but now all I seem to see is how you’ve been hurting me. Three years of friendship seems wrong to throw away, but hat am I supposed to do when you aren’t putting in the fight anymore. If I’m not the only one supposedly still in this then why do I feel so alone all the time?
I’ve learned about lies that you’ve told me, especially the ones about boys in your life. You said that he was harassing you, but then I find out that you offered him an invite into the back of your car. I would’ve stood up for you, even as you begged me not to. Now I see clearly why you wouldn’t have wanted me to get involved, especially since in your reality nothing had been wrong.
A boy broke my heart in the cold, bitter January air, and you decided to call him your “baby” on a warm July night. That might’ve just been the tipping point, the heartbreaking end to a one-ended friendship. At night I ask myself why you do these things that hurt me, while other nights I sing songs that metaphorically say “fuck you” to all that we allegedly had.
And those nights are good, they are freeing. It’s takes a lot of time, but I’ve cleared my mind and I’ve talked it over with myself. Next time you needed help it wouldn’t be me beside you, and maybe I was okay with that. I seemed to be feeling better when I wasn’t getting your notifications, when I wasn’t hearing about how you had changed.
I can listen to those songs that make me feel better, and I can dance and forget about the trouble you ever caused me. I think now that I’ve grown older and lived through your artificial friendship I don’t need it anymore. Sometimes eating lunch alone feels even more crowded than eating lunch with you.
It all comes down to this, that in a few years we might not even remember the friendship we had, even if we never had an authentic one. But I’ll always remember, that as we both grow old, I won’t be the one driving you home when you get drunk or are lost. It ain’t me anymore, and hell, that’s okay with me.
