September
1, 2002
the unsent farewell letter
Listening to: Norah Jones - Don't Know Why
Reading: nothing
12:46 am
Dear __ , I'm not content.
I know that by the time I wake up you would have left for... 'home'. I can't believe I've only seen you twice in the two months or so that you've been here.
Dear __ , I want to hate you. At the end of last year when we were talking for an average of two hours a day (at least), you promised me that the new place would not come between us. Our friendship. I now realise it was a ridiculous thing to say, and even more ridiculously, I believed you. But many things lie between that faraway country and here, and even more lies in there itself.
I want to hate you because the promise you made stands no longer. You have changed, to become the dark and free butterfly you've always wanted to be, and all you needed was what that new place had to offer.
I could offer nothing new to you, as I remain unchanged from when you had left me. My hair is longer, my circle of friends smaller, my nails have the opportunity to be black and my music is different, but on the whole I'm still under the warm blankets of my chrysalis.
I know too many things stopped us from saying goodbye before you left.
I know too many things stopped us.
That our octopus tentacles are letting go.
And I cannot hate you for that.