An Open Letter to a Lost Friend

I don’t do well when it comes to expressing how I truly feel. I have put my foot in my mouth more times than I care to count. All too often my heart speaks a language that my tongue has difficulty translating. I find it easier to hide behind humor that to acknowledge those messy emotions and say the wrong thing. This is one of my biggest shortcomings. For that, I apologize. I am truly sorry that I tease you more often than I tell you how thankful I am for you.

These things I tease you about, they are the things you would have the world believe about you. They are not who you truly are, and that is why I tease you so ruthlessly about them. I suppose in a way it irritates me that you would have others think such things about you. Were these things true about you, I would not bother teasing you. I probably would not bother talking to you. I am not the sweet little naïve girl that you seem to think I am. I would not waste my time and effort on someone who did not care, as you would like for me to believe that you do not.

Sometimes, when you think that no one is looking, I see it, that sadness in your eyes. I hate it. I don’t let many people in, perhaps because I am an all or nothing person. There is no luke-warm with me. That kind of caring is exhausting. My intense protective streak comes out. I hate that sadness in your eyes.

I know what it means to hurt. I have felt the stab of deep, raging pain so excruciating that you know you will never be quite the same. The kind of pain that burns the memories crystal clear into your brain. The kind that never quite heals. I know what it is to have demons and scars that the world doesn’t see and wouldn’t understand. I have a sadness that, though often buried deep, is ever present. It is not something anyone can heal. It has become an essential part of who I am.

Perhaps your pain is much the same. It might be ridiculous for me to think that I can do anything about the sadness in your eyes. The problem is that I am too much like you. Whenever you see someone around you hurting you rush in to fix it. When you can’t, even if it is something you couldn’t possibly fix, you beat yourself up about it. You carry that guilt with you, even when you are blameless. Even if I cannot fix that hurt, I will try, and I will blame myself for failing.

If you need anything, I am here. I may not be able to stop the hurt, but I will try. And, if nothing else works, I will tease you because then you smile and the laughter chases that sadness out of your eyes.

The prompt is to reach deep inside and express something inexpressible, something you have repressed. Open up, write a letter, see what beauty and truth unfold.