Dear Ray,

I miss you. But I'm not even sure in what way anymore. It doesn't hurt me to see pictures of you hugging her anymore, it doesn't hurt me to see you're hanging out with friends that I kind of miss anymore,and it doesn't hurt that I've known them since preschool too but they still choose you over me. It really just doesn't hurt anymore. And it's really weird. I can read, I can eat, I can run, I can watch TV, I can play piano, I can do all the stuff that I could never do in the beginning because I was so hurt. But now I'm okay. And I don't know why. I mean I'm sure it's just a bunch of reasons squished together but I want to try to sum it all up into one, or the most effective way.

There's the way that you're not the same anymore, first of all. The way where you pretty much make me miss you, but it's not really you that I miss it's the you I knew when we were together. You really are different now. You're cursing everywhere and the kid that you're closest to never even apologized to me for being a &^fucking #^#%**$. Because that is what he was, and you cannot deny that, you cannot even say anything about it. You know how terrible he was to me. But he's still the closest person to you. You've changed so much. And my mom says that you're trying to find who you are but I don't know why. I always depicted you as the kind of guy who knew exactly who he was and never even had to try to guess anything about himself. You have always been that way to me. So to hear that you really don't is kind of weird, but it makes sense. And you'd never be able to tell me that because people never really know. They don't think to themselves, at least I don't think they do, (I didn't) "I don't know who I am, let me try out being this way!" Most of the time it just kind of happens. And then you figure out you don't like the way you are them and you change it. But maybe you're different, I don't know. I don't really know anything about you anymore except that you very, very likely still value sleep over everyone and everything. Even your eyes aren't the same. At least, not in pictures. They don't have that livelihood that I always recognize from them, they don't have that beautiful spot of slight difference in color, where it's lighter in that area. They look so bored and dead, which is weird because you've always described yourself as alive and full of vigor, and if you're not full of vigor you're never bored. You never do something and be bored. You can sit and do nothing and not be bored. Although this is still describing the kid I knew from eighth grade. I don't know the high school you that you show to everyone. And I guess I just miss you. I don't know what way though. And I'm glad we don't talk right now because if we did then everything would start hurting again, even if we got back together. I'd just be even more hurt. And I don't know why but that's the only thing that makes sense, to be more hurt. But I'm not hurt right now, so I guess this is good. And I can look at all this new stuff and just be like, "Whatever, you're a dick. Do not want." But I guess I just miss having you there for me. I always knew you'd be there for me, to try to help me. Because you did. You listened to my problems when I didn't really wanna tell anyone else. You were so close to me. I don't know what kind of love I love you, but I know it's not an in love, I just miss you. What does it matter what kind of love it is? It doesn't.

Love,
Margaret. 

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Author guidance for This story

This is pretty much me talking about my feelings. I don't know if it's any good, I just write a lot about this kind of thing so I figured I'd put one up here just for kicks. And I'm probably going to put like a thousand more of these here so just beware of that. I hope you enjoy though, I mean, it would be better if I wrote something worth someone's time instead of wasting five minutes you'll never get back!

updated Oct 7 '11 by abb3yr0ad