Every once in a while I get a deep ache as I remember what Rowan’s friendship meant, still means to me. And every so often I am close to reaching out in the only avenues left to me, over obscure gaming chats, which might not even be monitored anymore. So far I have stopped myself.
Selfishly, I would be overjoyed to rekindle a friendship with Rowan, but to do so would mean overlooking some very real transgressions he committed (out of love, out of naïveté), such as telling me “I love you” in that particular tone and that particular earnestness— the final straw.
I regret how I abandoned him in Duluth, after a 3 hour drive spent in tense silence, where I had to convince him that I truly meant what I was doing. I didn’t allow myself to show any hesitation or wavering in my heart, even though I was indeed wavering and heartbroken in the moment. To show such a lack of conviction would have only invited further complications. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Further complications! And what would reaching out to him now achieve but that? How are we supposed to continue a friendship when my husband has, in the past, felt so insecure about him? And how am I supposed to trust Rowan to keep his heart on a leash, the poor romantic that he is?
A part of me hopes that I could reach out after enough time passes and he has moved on from his affections for me. But would that only hurt him? Would it tear open old wounds? Am I giving myself too much credit to assume I could hurt him so badly again? He could, after all, simply not care enough to even react at that point. Or is it possible that he never moves on? What then?
And what of Lukas? Would I have to keep our friendship a secret? Neither of them deserve that, and neither do I.
But If I die tomorrow, one of my greatest regrets would be how I ended things with Rowan. One of the few regrets of an action that I took, rather than one I did not take.
I miss the meme sharing, and the gaming, and the fashion judging. I miss our intellectual conversations, and our spontaneous adventures. I miss the music swapping, the laughing, the anime binges and the earnest discussions about culture and philosophy. I miss his honesty, even if his honesty is what broke the delicate balance where we could co-exist.
I don’t miss his chronic cynicism, which it seemed he turned to me to assuage (and desperately so at times). I don’t miss his tendency to wallow in self pity. Nor do I miss that particular self-inflated idea of himself and his intellect, the product of being the cleverest man in the small town that he came from.
That being said, he was my best friend, and I loved him, and I trusted him, and I leaned on him in hard times, and in the end, I treated him terribly— in the name of love and dedication! There is some kind of humor to be found there, surely, underneath all of the heartbreak.
If you ever read this, please know that I am truly sorry. You don’t have to accept my apology, but it’s there for the taking.