I have always wanted a best friend. And I thought I had found him. Nothing earth-shattering happened. I didn’t suddenly become happy or joyful or filled with glee, but at least I didn’t cry myself to sleep at night, and for that I was content…for that I was grateful. And no one came out and said, “You’re my best friend” because no one needed to, because it wouldn’t have been true. But with him next to me, it was easier, life that is. I didn’t feel so lost all the time, you know, and I didn’t feel so alone. And it’s funny how fast things change. So funny I’d laugh if I didn’t cry first. One minute you’re spilling your guts and the next, you’re talking to a total stranger. But with me, I guess it’s only fitting. I mean, I should’ve seen it coming. He was never home when I called, choking on my words, barely understandable through my sobs. He criticized everything on mine, materialistic or not…from my choice of guys to my “idealistic view of life” to my being special…can you believe he criticized my being special.
And maybe that’s where I went wrong, judging him by my “idealistic views”. Lying to myself, making myself believe that he was someone else, someone he’s not. And that’s where I always seem to go wrong, whenever my “ideals” come into play. You’d think I’d have learned by now to stop being so damn idealistic. To stop being so fucking naïve. To face the harsher side of reality…
(shaking my head) Yeah, I should’ve known…I should’ve known that I’d always, always, always want a best friend. I should’ve known that I’ll never stop searching because I’ll never find him, because “he” doesn’t exist.
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