This guy, I mean, look.
There was a time when he admitted I was a friend.
Doesn’t help that there’s an extra layer of weight on it all – this feeling that I’ve let him down because of what happened the day I should have been looking out, should have handled things differently. And now it’s all a bit too uneasy.
Mostly though, I’m leaving. So that’s weird. And uncomfortable. For him and for me.
It’s tough to leave in a way that’s graceful, that puts all the feels out there, that keeps his dignity intact. Because at the end of it, we all leave, and we are all left.
It’s not awkward if only one of us is feeling hurt. Is it.
Or maybe one of us is too much of a man to admit that it hurts.
So he leaves, before I get a chance to. Shuts me out, turns me off. But not in a courageous way. It feels cowardly, cold, calculated. I don’t think I should resent it, but I do. I won’t emulate it, I resent it.
I think I’m not being completely fair, though. Because at the end of it, we all leave, and we are all left.