Over You

I thought I was over you; I thought I had won. But then tonight I sat here, alone in my room, and I cried about you. I read all these things you had written to me; the “I love you”s and the “I miss you”s and “I’m so glad we’re here for each other”s . . . and I just got really sad. I don’t know if you’d still be there if I needed you. I am not sure I would know how to ask.

The thing is, I’m not even talking about romance. Not in the slightest . . . perhaps I’m over you in that sense. But I can never forget our friendship. And right now, I’m really upset and hurt and scared that it is practically non-existent.

I have this really cute pair of boots, but they gave me a killer blister last time I wore them. The blister was fine until I decided to pick/rip all the skin off of it. The skin underneath the blister is very raw and pink and I don’t like to step on it too much. Sometimes it doesn’t hurt; sometimes it does. But if I would have just left it alone, I would not have this problem.

See my point?

I miss you. I just don’t know how to tell you. And I don’t know what you would say. You’d probably freak out . . . and perhaps that just proves that we’re not the friends we used to be.


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