Just Because

Just because something feels good doesn’t mean it is good. For you. Just because he felt good doesn’t mean he was good for me. Just because from the moment we met we had to be sitting near each other, holding hands, wrapped up in each other..it didn’t mean we’d always feel this way. Though it was good. For a long while. Well for me it was. And through the years it was the beginning of that beginning of loving you and missing you throughout the week + feeling good when you asked if I was coming down for the weekend. The beginning love kept the light on for me as the later years became not so bright.
I didn’t know you were heavily into drugs. I knew you partied. I knew you had a Daddy. I knew you were sad and sensitive and in need of love, like a lot of us. But I never felt sorry for you. It never occurred for me to. I knew you had a reputation. That you couldn’t escape. I knew you wanted to leave this town. And start over. I knew you made decisions that weren’t that great for you. I loved you anyway. It didn’t matter. I would hold your hand through anything. I’m no angel and certainly no martyr. It was never ever hard to love you. Not at all. Not at any time. We were friends. And there was only one interaction in the 6 plus years of our friendship that I regretted. If I wasn’t high and (depressed) it would have never happened.
Now that we aren’t friends. This time now that we aren’t friends. Now that I know this.. (because I didn’t know officially, until recently, there was no direct memo, “Dear E___, I am no longer your friend”)..I can’t be mad or sad. It’s a bit confusing only because it is unclear. Just what has happened? Comforting myself that I have no hard feelings. Only because I hardly know what to feel. I can only speculate to what has ended our friendship. You made a choice. I honor it. What else can I do? I’m glad for having known you.

p.s.
My favorite memory of us: We were all taking turns to come out and sit with you because you weren’t old enough to get into the beer garden at pride. We sat on the grass and talked and talked and talked.

The memory that comes to me the most often: Me looking at you with love. And you saying: Don’t look at me that way.

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