Only Better

I don’t know how to not talk to you. So I’m doing a bit of a thought dump in an attempt to stop emailing.

ou’ll always be my Starbuck. My Dean. My Person. My friend J.

I know I’ve said some horrible shit to you. Most of it I never meant. Some of it I did, in the moment. Hurt that you could seemingly leave me behind so easily. That I didn’t have any impact on you. My biggest fear in life.

But this is not about that.  I have my grievances with you, but I’m not here to revisit those.

Am I jealous of how happy you are without me? Yes, but I am so fucking glad at the same time. Your Instagram pictures shine. Yeah, I creep them sometimes. Not as often as you might think.

There is nothing I regret more than not being there to see you shine with happiness.

But besides the incredible, horrible anxiety attack I got from sending those wedding gifts, I am happy too. Happier, even.

I am almost never angry, because I almost never drink. Not at home anyway. Still doing that. Because I’m not triggered. I feel different. Infinitely more content, and generally more at peace. I don’t say all that to be “I’M OVER IT TOO NAH NAH!”, but rather because the change fucking blew me away.  It wasn’t fast. It might have kicked in somewhere in August when I realized it had been ages since I’d cried or been angry.

That doesn’t mean I don’t miss you like absolute insanity, Jasmine. It hurts still. But I know right now it’s better for me to not be friends with you, as I’m sure it’s clearly better for you as well.

I still hope that someday we can find our way back to each other.

I hope that you and T are as happy as you look for the rest of your marriage. I hope you build a life and a family together, whether it be with cats or with kids, or just the two of you, “Mr. & Mrs”. Happy together.  I hope you’re like Ellie and Carl from UP!, that you build an adventure book together.

I hope you design your fucking face off and get all the best movies in town, or wherever you want them to be.  I hope you get to go back to the desert. I hope you win more awards and accolades so I can say “I knew her when”.

I hope sometime you do go back to the dropbox to read the stories. I hope sometimes you still think of me, miss me even.  I hope sometimes you creep my Instagram to see my paintings. You still inspire me.  I’m sorry I took all those paintings back. Or at least I assume I did. I still haven’t opened the envelope they are in. Mostly because in my heart of hearts I hope you said “fuck her” and kept the desiderate (don’t tell me).

I hope you don’t ever forget me.

I will *always* love you more than I’ve ever hated you.

I hope you don’t hate me.

I’ll think of you every time I hear “For Good”.

And I hope someday you find another best friend like me, only better.