open letters to no one

growth

I let you grow on me until I finally suffocated enough to realize we had to grow apart, and here I am two years later with a heart full of new discovery and a smile that is finally starting to look like me.

in movies, best friends always work out their differences and continue having adventures with happy endings and mutual support.

they never show the nights I spent awake, wondering if it was really terrible of me to continue to nod along when you ranted about something I knew was wrong, or the way you smirk at girls holding hands, girls wearing a crop top, girls cutting their hair short, girls being happy.

I dedicated years of my life trying to cater to you and your achingly heavy opinions but I finally opened my eyes a little too wide, and I stopped carrying them (and you) on my shoulders.

I haven't been in your room in two years, but I can still picture every inch of your house- memorized from the hours I spent there (my second home, now just a ghost town of echoing laughs from years ago and the smell of you that I can't ever forget)

your mom loved me. she still does, really. I've probably talked to her more than you in the past year.

it doesn't help that I pass your house everyday and smell the brownie mix that we made a mess of all over your kitchen too often, hear the Friends theme song we used to sing along to at 3 am, feel an ache in my stomach (similar to the way it felt after hours of laughter on your bedroom floor, but this lasts a lot longer)

I don't think I'll miss you too much, and I don't know if we'll ever be friends again, but sometimes you pass me in the hallway and the hesitant half-smile you send my way is so condescending compared to the dramatic running hugs you used to give me at school.

but it's been two years and I almost never think of you anymore. sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if you still ran to my house when you were upset or if you were still at the top of my messages, but I stop there.

(and I think of all the things I've learned since you left my side, since you stopped being my shield of unwavering opinion)

you repainted your room, a new phone devoid of countless selfies we used to take sits in your hand, and when I walk past your house, different peals of laughter echo from your bedroom window.

but I know I'll still think of you every time I see a Cascade Ice.

(and every time I see a pride flag and feel like I can smile, and every time I tell my friend that she looks great in those shorts even though she's not starving herself to nothing, and every time I remember the weight I had to carry in order to deserve the laughs you gave me.

they weren't real. they weren't real. they weren't real.

this is real. I'm finally right.

I think of you
every time I have to
convince myself this
all
over
again.)