Hey, remember when you were my confidant? The relief of true friendship we found in one another made me feel less broken. Suddenly, my track record of short-lived friendships was rendered obsolete. We shared a real connection, my dear. With love of our common god to base us, we carried forth our conversations over impassioned environmental concerns, shared DIY tips, staggered through the learning curves of cooking for our allergy-ridden children, loved vintage thrifting, and tried to let go the burden placed on each of our hearts for the peers who would not, or could not accept or understand us. I found solace in you - a place that I felt real.
I remember the night, my former confidant, when I fearfully confessed my doubts, and you were so worried about your spouse’s. I tried to give you insight, and you tried to give me support, yet somewhere along the discourse, we slightly missed our marks. Or maybe you dodged, not ready to take in all that I was throwing at you? I can’t complain that you’ve ever judged me, but I feel the weight of your loss of the former me. You swore we’d still be friends, that it wouldn’t change anything. I didn’t believe you, and I didn’t want to, because I desperately wanted you to see my new reality, and join me. I wanted you to change, with me.
It’s different now. You are still so lovely and kind, a truehearted soul. But, I don’t believe in souls anymore, so where does that leave us? What are we based on, now? You won’t follow my reasoning, and I won’t return to your faith. We now walk along much different paths, and I can’t see many crossovers. There is a quiet yearning, from each of us, to follow the other. I cannot, and you will not. Shall we walk alongside one another, our ways slowly leading away from each other? I take more comfort in that, then the sharp turn of simply walking away. Let’s draw this out, for as long as we can, while we both faintly, futilely hope for our roads to intersect once more.