The Curse of Solitude

Dear friend,

I don’t suppose I ever said the words

that I ought to have said.

And as I lay here, lonely,

on this icy winter’s day,

I only can imagine you

out there, with your new friends.

I haven’t spoken to you –

even texted you – since May.

Maybe it’s the curse of being

someone who likes solitude,

but don’t think I can take this

all the time, week after week.

But then, you never sought me out

for anything too often,

and only now I see the thing

I should have thought to seek.

A friendship needs two people.

I never really did my part,

so it’s no wonder you stopped stepping

forward to do yours.

I think of days spent dreaming,

days thinking myself away;

I ought to have made better use

of all those countless hours.

I’d apologize if I knew how,

but I don’t think you care enough

about someone, barely a friend –

and, I think, rightly so.

These last words you shall hear from me

are steeped in some regret –

yet not too much, for over something

I did not try hard to get.

Sincerely,

            your “friend”