When they want to tell you it's gonna be OK, their unsolicited pride make them think they are needed, they are the answer. Their want for more makes them bargain for what happens now, while you are fragile, and next, when everything will be back to normal, according to them.
As if there ever was a back to normal. I wish I had been there. So many times. Without a word for you did not need preaching. There was no normal, just us. But I wasn't there at all. Maybe a wounded pride knowing I couldn't get more, needing you to need me. I could not be decent.
Self-hatred would not lead further. Regret the same old game, coming up with fantasies of what couldabeen. I'm sorry is never enough. But your friendship did matter to me. If only I'd worked hard enough on what a friend is.
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