I Don’t Hate You. We Just Can’t be Friends Any Longer

Letter to an old friend I’ll never send.

Photo by Clem Onojeghuo from Pexels

‘Sweet is the memory of distant friends! Like the mellow rays of the departing sun, it falls tenderly, yet sadly, on the heart’.

— Washington Irving

I am not going to ask for your forgiveness. I already did. And from what you said, you’d already given me that.

I broke you. I broke us. I am aware. And even if you say you’ve forgiven me and that we cannot change what happened, I know what I did.

I am aware, old friend.

It was wrong. Breaking us like that. The things I said and the words I would not be able to take back. Do you know what’s most interesting? I am certain I would do it all over again if given the chance.

My distraught was only a reflection of our lost bond — the fun we had, the conversations, the tears, the laughs, and the jokes.

It was wrong. Breaking us like that. The things I said and the words I would not be able to take back.

Do you remember that night by the side of the road when we bought that scrawny piece of Koki-corn? We sat on those benches beside the young lady with the pot. It was dark. The cars hooted 3 meters in front of us. We were the alone on that bench. You complained about the temperature of the meal. I delved into its content, giddy. We were talking about some girl I had a crush on.

Or that time on your birthday when I wrote that long Facebook post about what you meant to me and everyone got pissed that they couldn’t beat my penned expression of love.

Do you remember how cool it was when we were both crying over the phone and saying how much we loved each other that night?

I remember that night. Or the night when I lost it because I was expecting you to say without a doubt that you were my best friend and you didn’t.

I just smiled at my previous infantile nature.

But hey…that was two years ago. A lot has happened since then.

You hid things from me. I found out and got mad. I destroyed our relationship and dragged the people you cared the most into it. I called you names.

I am aware of what I did. And I need you to know that as much as I feel that my anger was justified, the way that I handled it was wrong.

I am sorry.

A few months ago, I’d hoped making a speech and expressing remorse would make things go back to the way they were. I was wrong. Something broke in us. Something broke in you.

Something is broken in me too.

I am aware of what I did. And I need you to know that as much as I feel that my anger was justified, the way that I handled it was terribly wrong.

We’ve all learned from this. You’ve chosen to take your distance. I respect that. I understand your choice as well. I have stopped making any efforts to regain your trust or befriend you.

Photo by freestocks.org from Pexels

Do you remember that last time we met after the conversation? It actually felt weird shaking your hand knowing that there was nothing else we could talk about.

I could see you, but I couldn’t hug you. We couldn’t make jokes anymore. I couldn’t tell you about American Gods.

Or my fiancee.

I couldn’t tell you about work and the changes I was undergoing. Or the time when I wouldn’t talk to anyone. Or how difficult it was coming back after getting my heart broken by the same person who triggered the actions that led to my vengeful action towards you.

It was the weirdest feeling ever.

I have thought about that evening. With that in mind, I have stopped stalking you on social media, the cold shudder I had when seeing your picture on my feed through mutual friends has receded. I even recommended you to someone who needed your services without feeling like I was committing an unspeakable crime.

I will keep all the memories. Good and bad. Sad and happy. In some weird way, I still feel like we’re brothers. I will look out for you, from a distance as you requested. I’ll celebrate your wins and if you ever need me for you, I will be there.

I promise you that.

I broke us. I can’t change that. And life will go on. You will succeed in your endeavors and I will keep hustling with mine.

Who knows? Maybe one day we’ll share another Koki by the road.

I will keep all the memories. Good and bad. Sad and happy.

I love you, bro.

Written by

Cameroonian writer and video creator. Featured in LEVEL and P.S. I Love You. I write about building relationships and personal transformation.

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