childhood best friends. one argument. two kids.
one left by another and they didn't talk again for 7 years.
what happens when years later they meet again in their home town in the grand city of New York?
was it fate or bad luck?
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Ruth.
WAS I a bad person?
It was a couple of days later after me and Elijah's conversation and I just couldn't stop replaying it over and over in my head, like it was a broken record playing an CD over and over.
In all honesty, I didn't know what to think. Was I in the wrong in this stupid argument?
He did get angry at you for no reason Ruth.
But you also didn't give him the chance to even explain his reasoning.
It was all so muddled up in my head to the point that I was just so frustrated, so frustrated with everything.
And what I was even more frustrated with was that I think I might—I might be the in the..wrong.
god why was that so hard to admit?
Because even though it was not fair that he got angry at me, I also didn't give him a chance to explain and probably made the situation worse by making him feel awful about himself because that is NOT what I wanted to do. I just wanted to get my point across, make him understand why it wasn't fair but in the process I managed to come out as the bad guy, and that was my fault. All my fault.
So here we were again, being the one to apologise for my actions, which I did need to do.
But this was going to be different because instead of meeting him at the library or at our spot, I was on my way to his house.
Yes, his house.
I couldn't lie and say I wasn't shitting myself because for one, it could all go terribly wrong and we could end up arguing again, and two, I hadn't been to his house in a long time.
The last time I went was the day he told me he didn't want to be my bestfriend anymore, and then the morning after I found out he had left the town and I didn't even know where he had gone or why for that matter.
But it's fine. I'm fine.
But when, the street becomes all too familiar, I swear I feel a little bit of vomit reach my throat.
His street.
This was the street that I openly avoided at all costs for the last 7 years. And honestly it was ridiculous how out of my way I had gone to avoid this street. Ridiculous.
My steps slow when I reach his neighbours house.
His is the next one. Number 8.
I release a shaky breath and close my eyes before walking forward, tensing up when I open my eyes to find myself in front of it.
Looking at it now, it hadn't changed one bit. The brick walls exterior, and the dark black roof. The path leading through the front garden to the front door was a clear root but the uncut grass on the sides had slowly started to inch there way onto it. Not just yet though. The front porch, with one weak flickering light on, making the porch only just about seen in the darkness.
