dear stranger (who isn’t, really)

Hey. It's been a while, hasn't it? I was at the bookstore today with a friend, and I was looking through the racks of books. The Chinese books, specifically, because I got hooked onto these. I found books by Middle. I bought one.

It's "never forget and you'll never know". I wonder if you've read the thing? I hope you did. It's a good one. You should read it.

I finished the book. And so this email will probably be sent out to you for once, even as I'm a coward.

I understand it, you know. I don't love you anymore, but you also know that. I make excuses for you, and I take it. God that makes me sound selfish, doesn't it? That I sound like I'm complaining about you. But I'm not. Genuinely not. I'm just... telling. Putting words that spring from my head onto a computer screen and hope it doesn't sound like too much of a mess.

I used to love you. And I'm still obsessed with the idea of you. (Maybe I'll have my peace after finishing this.) But we both know what we are. And I hate that I still hear your voice at night, and I remember every single detail of you that you let me have. I hate it. So, so much. I've changed, and you've changed. We've grown, haven't we? Well, I have. Perhaps you haven't, but then who am I to know?

If I'm being honest today. And that I won't acknowledge the existence of this ever again, and that you might not even read this. But still.

I'm jealous. And so full of the loud and obnoxious, that I'm quiet. I just wanted to ask. What about Bethany, what about Janice, what about Tiffany, Juliet, all the people we know, and you've mentioned to me, and been upset that they didn't reply to you, what about all of them that are better than me? I'm sorry; I know it sounds horrible. And that's what I am, boiled down to the core, aren't I? A ball of competitiveness and jealousy, and that I keep people away because of how much damage I do. Even if nobody is subjected to the searing heat but myself.

But on a more serious note. Why am I consistently inferior? I've tried, so hard. Even if you don't know about it. And you don't want to. I fought for you. But we won't talk of that.

Why do I keep losing? You've hung on to them, even if they've straight-forwardly told you to stop contacting them, that they found you irritating, or just ignored your messages. I've never done that. I've always missed you, texted you, listened, talked you out. Did you pretend that I mattered? That our friendship mattered? Because you've.

Shit. I fell for your trap, intentional or not.

But it's fine. I'll admit that you've won our little mind game. Will you take your ghost and leave nothing behind if I do? Because I prefer an empty head to the alternative. Echoes of you bouncing off the pages of my books.

I know it could be awkward for you even after I confessed my feelings, and it was okay. But I told you, more than once, nothing had to change. Nothing would change.

(And you know. You still owe me an explanation? I deserve one. Perhaps you don't agree, but I need one. And I know now that I deserve one. But it's okay if you don't give me that; I sought my own closure through this email. )

Yet you disappeared without a trace. And you changed your number.

You said your mother had you block me, but I didn't receive an explanation until I asked. Or a reason. Just radio silence. And you say I'm still your sister, still your friend but Fuck! Friends don't break each other's hearts.

(okay. so maybe I lied. nobody can still be friends after getting their heart broken. but I wish you'd indulged me in the little flakes of peace we had left.)

I can't put you down, but I could start to resent you. I don't want that. And I used to have to put up a facade, day after day, but isn't it funny? I don't have to do that anymore. We've gotten to a place where you don't even answer my messages on the group chat anymore. Strangers with memories. Or perhaps one keeping them, and the other simply leaving them behind. Moving on.

I'm leaving the group chat, so that you know. Just so... you have a warning. Just so. Even if I don't think you care.

Sometimes I think what if you had actually returned my affections. But then the image stops, because I've never seen you truly care. Not once, Miles Chan. However much you think you did.

But it's getting late now. And I should stop, even if I don't sleep anymore, but you know that, I think. If you haven't forgotten who I was.

I'm just another girl who once cared from the sidelines.

Hazel Forsen

(p.s. If you ever read this mail, Chan. Don't bother replying, you don't need to. And shouldn't feel the need to, so let it go.)

(p.p.s. - I'm not apologizing, but this is the closest thing I will give to it. And I hope this email doesn't seem overly aggressive, although I know it probably will be. My intentions were to just let you know and to let the flames from the battlefield die. Don't feel bad, but honestly? Feel free to hate me. I'd deserve it after the send button is pressed.)