I’ve lost so many friends. All sorts of reasons. Mostly making choices that I knew would lose me friendships, with various mixtures of regret and relief and good riddance. I now find myself in a town peppered intermittently with people who were former friends. They’re still around, friends of other friends, doing stuff I hear about in the thin ties of facebook feeds. They are tinged with nostalgia and a sense of distance not worth bridging. The ravines have spikes. And I’m busy.

I think about how to go back to them. I wonder why I want to. I think it might be this sense that “good” is supposed to win eventually, so the lingering bad blood seems like something unfinished. All is supposed to be well, and while time has worn away all the edges, it’s not quite WELL, really, between us. The awkwardness of seeing them around at concerts or events is an unwelcome blip. Do I say hi? Do I ignore them? Would ignoring them be mean? Blip. Blip on the radar of unfinished business. Blip.

I was asked, a while ago, if I wanted to come back to a circle. I was very lonely and vulnerable, which could have made for a good time to regain a circle, but the idea repulsed me. The reason I left them in the first place was that I didn’t feel safe, so going to them with open wounds and a hurting heart just seemed unthinkable. I suppose if I wanted to cast myself upon their mercy, but I kinda don’t. For all the pain and trouble of my life as it’s gone, I’ve only become more determined to maintain a steady hand on my own will.

And when I think about that calculus, that some people are worse than lonely and hurting, maybe I have my answer about why I think about going back to them, but don’t.


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