I knew it would be part of it. I knew I would feel it. I don’t even want to acknowledge it on top of the abandonment I already felt. I want to logic it away and not fret over it.

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I once prayed for you while on my knees, sobbing, begging God to make a way for you and your children.

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I sat with you while you cried in church, in a funeral home, in a coffee shop.

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We ate meals together. Celebrated birthdays. Created projects together.

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Hours. We talked for hours.

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In the end, silence.

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The silence hurt. The quiet retreat. The disinterest. The one day there and the next moment gone.

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When you sent me that message, I didn’t realize it was the ending of a friendship. Naive.

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I look around at the people who have stayed. I see the ones who are able to hold both, and think, that makes sense, my marriage and it’s failing had nothing to do with your relationship to either of us. Or at least, it shouldn’t have. Should it?

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I suppose the closer you are to one or the other it does. Loyalties run thick and long. Perhaps it’s not in the choosing that surprised me. Perhaps it’s the realization that I wasn’t as close to you as I thought I was. You didn’t care to sit with me and hear me.

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There are many things that remind me of you. I miss you. I miss our talks. Our ponderings. Our brainstorms. Our collaboration. I miss our humor. Shared beers. Book shares and writing chats. I miss talking about kids with you. Dreaming of adventures.

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I try to understand. I think I do. It’s hard to process.