All the small things that made you my best friend, that is why I hate you now.
That is why we cannot talk.
Because all I think, all I know, is all the tiny nuances of him, all the things that make him tick, all the ways I loved him. It's easy to talk to him. It's easy because he knows me better than anyone. Or he did.
Not really any more.
It's only been five months. And actually, not even really that long. How much distance can I have gotten? I'm happy but I'm sad. Shouldn't it all mean more? Shouldn't it be a little harder to extricate myself?
I still love him.
Don't get me wrong.
But he doesn't know me anymore.
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