I’d like to get back in touch.
It feels like forever ago we had a falling out, as most friends do. It wasn’t cute. There was a lot of yelling and crying and most of it was over text message. You were manipulative, I was crazy. We’ve all been 21, you know. Or maybe it was more simple than that. I moved away. You got a new job. Summer ended, you switched schools, we graduated, neither of us owns a car. It’s all the same story.
We’ve exchanged a few messages since, “how are you?” and “I’ve been working a lot” but it’s shallow. I don’t really care about your new office or pictures of the dog you rescued from the pound. If I wanted to know these things I’d stalk you until I figured them out myself. That’s what Facebook is for, isn’t it? Mostly I just want you to be sincere. I want to know about the avocado you had for lunch and what you thought about when you were falling asleep last night. Can we talk about the things we’re too afraid to tell anybody else? It doesn’t have to be that intimate. Or romantic. I only want to hear something real, to make a connection, because it’s been so long.
I think as we grow older these deep friendships come few and far between. I crave the type of conversation I took for granted in college, the ones that lasted for hours on end where we’d talk about Descartes’ mind-body problem and how long it takes us to brush our teeth with the same urgency and care. Why don’t we do that anymore? Laying on the carpet in your living room used to be enough, and now I feel obligated to put on a front and say “work is going great!” or “we signed a lease for our new place just last week!” I don’t want to talk about these things because I don’t want them to be what matters.
