my dear

my dear, we learned to sit side by side eating lunch with our knees touching, saying nothing because nothing needed saying. for years it was just assumed, you and me, crumbs all on our clothes, laughing like the day couldn't end if we didn't let it. you were kind in quiet ways. creative. funny. like the world hadn't started asking too much of you yet. i miss that you. the one who didn't flinch so easily, who didn't sound exhausted just by existing, who didn't carry anger, like it was keeping her upright, who didn't look like she was already preparing to leave. you knew me. not in a romantic way— in a way that matters. in the way best friends know when something is wrong before anyone names it. i wish I had known how much was wrong with you. you didn't collapse all at once. it wore you down, your laughter stopping, your patience running out, your hurt spilling outward until it started landing on me. I told myself it was temporary. that loving you meant endurance. that if i stayed long and steady enough, i could fix you. so i stayed. and then i didn't. and that's something i will never forgive myself for. suddenly people started speaking about you in the past tense. no new messages. no explanations. no more chances. just the unbearable fact that you didn't stay. and that i wasn't enough to fix you. and i keep wondering what would have happened if i'd noticed sooner. if i'd stayed longer. if i'd said the right thing instead of the easy, or nothing at all. so i carry your memory in questions with no answer, in guilt that shouldn't belong to me but does anyway. but now when i think of you, i don't think of how angry you were in the end. i think about how tired you looked. how long you carried this silent grief, before the world taught you to put it down for good. so now i'm relearning to sit alone, knees touching only each other, saying nothing because i have nothing left to say without you. love, georgie