Nov 2017
Dear stranger
It’s been two years since we’ve last spoken. And seven years since we started existing to the other. I can still remember clearly the first time we met. You were wearing overalls with a paint stained tank top, grey leggings and converse. Your hair was pulled back into a hasty ponytail and your hands were covered in paint. You loved to paint.
I remember how your room was covered in various works of art, and a variety of different boxes of tea had been stacked on the top shelf of a bookshelf that was closest to the doorway. You had always talked about doing art shows, in the hopes of one day making money off your art.
The first time you entered in the very first art show, I remember how ecstatic you were, and the underlying currents of nervousness in your voice as you called me to share the news. You didn’t end up selling any of your pieces, but you were proud that you went out of your comfort zone with your art.
I remember the last fight we had, and I can distinctly recall feeling hurt, betrayed, sad, mad and confused afterwards. I didn’t understand how you could be friends with someone and then have the nerve to lie to their face, as if it didn’t matter how they were affected by your actions. I just wish that you had just told me the truth: you didn’t want to be friends anymore. I would’ve understood that and nothing would have blown up if that was what had happened instead.
I’m probably never going to say this to you, and that’s okay. I needed to get it on paper so that I could let it go and continue on with my life. We’ve gone our separate ways, and sometimes friends do that. I can only hope that we can come face to face once again and not stir up the past.
Sincerely,
A mutual connection
It’s been two years since we’ve last spoken. And seven years since we started existing to the other. I can still remember clearly the first time we met. You were wearing overalls with a paint stained tank top, grey leggings and converse. Your hair was pulled back into a hasty ponytail and your hands were covered in paint. You loved to paint.
I remember how your room was covered in various works of art, and a variety of different boxes of tea had been stacked on the top shelf of a bookshelf that was closest to the doorway. You had always talked about doing art shows, in the hopes of one day making money off your art.
The first time you entered in the very first art show, I remember how ecstatic you were, and the underlying currents of nervousness in your voice as you called me to share the news. You didn’t end up selling any of your pieces, but you were proud that you went out of your comfort zone with your art.
I remember the last fight we had, and I can distinctly recall feeling hurt, betrayed, sad, mad and confused afterwards. I didn’t understand how you could be friends with someone and then have the nerve to lie to their face, as if it didn’t matter how they were affected by your actions. I just wish that you had just told me the truth: you didn’t want to be friends anymore. I would’ve understood that and nothing would have blown up if that was what had happened instead.
I’m probably never going to say this to you, and that’s okay. I needed to get it on paper so that I could let it go and continue on with my life. We’ve gone our separate ways, and sometimes friends do that. I can only hope that we can come face to face once again and not stir up the past.
Sincerely,
A mutual connection
