I don’t mean to be a pain in the arse.

But really, sometimes I feel like a total third wheel. Or maybe that isn’t the right thing to say. Sometimes, I feel like I don’t belong in that high society of *I-shall-not-name*.

Because I’m really such a recluse.

But but but I loved every moment when I could have been. I loved love the people. They meant something to me, before. Perhaps, it wasn’t that strong a feeling, but there was a connection.

I tried. Really. Maybe not that hard enough. Because as the time we had were brief, so were the connection.

I never really could speak of things you guys raved about. I never was able to talk on stuff you guys liked. I can’t. Not now. And our conversations dwindled. You came to me only when you wanted me to edit things, to do things for you. Regrettably, I didn’t finish something someone asked.

I felt I didn’t know you well enough to do so.

I can’t tell you face to face, even now. But this post isn’t exactly about you. If you think that I’m talking about you, then you’ll know this crowd of people that I love, and want to still be friends with, but I simply don’t know how.

Before, I told one of you, I never clicked, because I wasn’t popular. I couldn’t speak up, when you guys were loud and brash and cheerleaders and supermodels and superheroes and saving the Earth. I’m ordinary. Too ordinary I sometimes wonder why am I here?

That was why when I got in, strings pulled Dad told me much, much later – breaking my heart because I thought I was worth it – I was elated, I was overjoyed, and I was one of you.

Time passed, things ended. And we drifted away. Attempts at conversations left me hollow. Because I can’t really talk to you, now, can I? I don’t know. It doesn’t seem right, somehow.

And I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I really am.

Because all I wanted, all I wanted was just that simple wish of becoming a good friend of yours.

(You’re probably not reading this, because that’s how far we’ve drifted apart. Even if you are, that’s only probably because you’re under the assumption that we’re close friends. I wish, I wish I could be. It’s not a lie that we’re friends, but somehow, somehow, I can’t speak to you freely as I am, as I am the ordinary one. And you’re the one who awes me so much, that every word I speak is carefully chosen. Every smile I make, strained, because I’m scared you won’t like me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.)

I just want to be your friend.

I just don’t know how to start once again.

Can we start over?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s