There are bridges I have burned out of necessity. Yours was simply abandoned, left untended for years until weeds grew through it and the railing fell apart and it became something you might take a black-and-white picture of, but you could never cross again. It was unsafe, destroyed by neglect. And that hurt more — to see something just erode into oblivion is so much more brutal than to cover it with gasoline and to toss a match on it.
And the time that we didn’t speak went from a simple act of convenience into a border which could no longer be crossed. There is an invisible moment in time, a line of sorts, that you traverse at a certain point in a mutual silence. It is the time when, from then on, starting a conversation would be awkward and jagged and require an embarrassed explanation of why you haven’t spoken in so long. We crossed that point a long time ago, whether I wanted to or not, and I knew that going back would be fruitless. Acknowledging each other was over, and it was time to accept the quiet death of a friendship that had taken place.
Of course, I still hoped that you would reach out… I waited for it consciously, then without thinking of it, and eventually I wasn’t waiting at all. My life began to continue, and your peripheral existence didn’t factor in. I was happy without it, and the fact that you weren’t a part of everything was no longer a tangible hole needing to be filled.
(Source: thoughtcatalog.com, via matanong)
Post Info
3 months ago.
Notes: 17
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