One of my favorite bloggers has written a series titled The Last Time I Saw You and for the longest time I’ve wanted to do a series by the same title of my own, but I’ve been a little shy. Until today. However, unlike Brenna at This Battered Suitcase, I’m not going to confine my posts to just past boyfriends. I’ve always been a huge fan of open letters and letters in general, so I think this will be fun for me. Anyways, here we go.
The Last Time I Saw You: Part One
The last time I saw you, you were wearing a red apron and checking my groceries. I hadn’t known you were at work or I wouldn’t have gone in. Or maybe I did know, God knows I wanted to see you. Either way, there you were, there I was. I don’t think we made eye contact. Probably you mumbled a “How’s it going?” and that’s when I told you I didn’t get into the JET program and you said, “That sucks” but I think that might have been the extent of our conversation. I only had a few items. I got out of there as soon as I could. I think it had been just a few months since I’d written you that letter and our friendship had ended.
I’m sorry. Not because I hurt you but because I wish I still had you for a friend. Maybe that’s selfish of me.
Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I still had your texts and calls and opinions colouring my world. I was in Korea for a year, and now China, and I wonder, I mean I know my steps and thoughts would be just a little different if we were still friends. You helped me figure things out. You made me smile at little things. You would get so excited over the brilliant, tiny victories in life and that was your brightness, your charm. We never traveled together but I know you’d be a good travel partner with your crooked smile and never-missing-anything eyes. Everything was brighter with you, explosively bright.
I fractured my knee again last fall and I thought of you and your inextinguishable drive for hiking. I was never fit for you, if only for my weak knees. Last week I climbed down a mountain on that very same knee and again thought of you, a small victory for me would be boring for you. It’s better this way, I know that. I hope you’ve found your perfectly brilliant and intellectual and fragile and strong and tiny mountaineering girl who’s willing to hitchhike across every continent with you. Though I still have my doubts about her existence.
I still miss you and wonder how you’re doing, what you’re doing. I want to smoke cloves with you and drink espresso outside in Seattle rain while we talk about Jesus and complain about stupid people and pretty people. I want to praise Russian writers with you and turn over the difficulties of life in with our mouths like some never-dissolving, bitter cough drop. But mostly, I want to know that you’re well. God I hope that you’re well.
I know I told you not to contact me unless you’d changed your mind. But I’m more grown up now than I was the last time I saw you. I’m sure I could handle just friendship with only the smallest dash of yearning.