i never got to meet your dog, or see your new bedroom. it's funny how our friendship ended right when everything in our lives started. i know it's my fault; i was brash and abrasive and i spoke too soon. there was so little i left unsaid, so little mystery or anything left for you to feel or to say other than "sorry" and "i knew what you were going to say before you said it." i had you back after not talking for a year, and i let myself think i could ever really have you in any way other than our new norm: an icy side-step around what we used to be. i still love you a little. a part of me wishes you would read this and text me first again the way you did that summer.