Longing

He'd never spoken to me.

Not after the incident last time.

He said it was my third strike. I had to be taken out of his life. He was too tired of listening to my pleas.

My apologies. He'd given up on answering my phone calls. My emails. Letters. Texts.

As if I'd never existed.

The door that had joined the both of us was shut. Locked multiple times. Blockaded with numerous obstacles.

He didn't want me anymore.

The knot that held us together was untied.

Broken.

Those long years that glued me to him dried up. Peeled away. We had been childhood friends. That was a bond that was supposedly the strongest.

Something everlasting.

This was proven wrong.

We were the prime example.

But the old us. I wish that experience would've lasted forever.

We shared everything together.

Inseparable. He could read my mind. And I, his.

I loved him.

He loved me back. He wouldn't say it, but I knew he did. I didn't want to hear those words from him. The feelings were enough for me.

My heart would skip a beat whenever I was with him. Melt under his intense gazing. Crack up at his occasionally funny jokes.

We understood each other. We were one soul.

Or so I thought.

I confessed.

I couldn't hide it anymore.

I liked him.

I wanted to be with him.

It seemed that those were the words he feared most. The responsibility of another. The burden of liking someone. He didn't want it. It was too much for him.

So he didn't want me. And had decided to cut all contact with me. I was a taboo to him. Unspeakable.

Completely dead to him.

Was loving a crime to him? Was I someone he should've been ashamed of? If so, why couldn't we just stay as friends?

I deserved at least that much.

No.

He wanted to disappear from my memory.

Especially since I had been erased from his.

He wouldn't talk to me anymore. We werent' the close friends we once were.

He stopped talking to me.

Years passed. Still, not a word came from him.

Were my feelings so unforgiveable? So wrong?

It was the fourth year. No words. I had to stop as well. He'd never come back for me. He didn't care anymore.

He probably didn't think of me anymore. Unlike me, who, without a fail, thought of him always. Trying to find out what I did wrong.

I'd create imaginary scenarios. Making myself the villain.

It would never work out. I'd gone through numerous withdrawl periods.

He was the drug I couldn't abstain from.

Finally, we were reunited.

I couldn't hold it in.

He had to speak to me. I had to talk to him.

I wanted to hear his voice. I hadn't heard it in so long.

I longed for him to speak.

To me. Only me.

I needed the restoration of our friendship. A sign that he still wanted some connection to me.

I longed for him to speak.

He did.