Dear K,

Quite frankly, I don’t even know what I want to say to you. You aren’t someone I can talk to any more. Every time I hear your name mentioned or walk past you, there are a million things I want to let you know, but I can’t say any of them. We were best friends and then hooking up once got in the way of that. One afternoon doomed a friendship. You lied to my face. You told me that no matter what happened we would stay friends. I was there for you when your life got hard and all I got in return is a silent treatment.

For the longest time I was angry at you. You treated my feelings like they didn’t even exist. I may be a hormonal teenage girl and I can deal with you not liking me—but I couldn’t deal with you acting like you had never met me. It hurts to be blatantly avoided. It hurts that you don’t care enough about me to reach out. It still hurts every time I see you because I do miss you and I do want to be friends with you. But again, the purpose of this letter is not to berate you for what I think you did wrong; the purpose of this letter is to let you know what an impact you have had on my life.

From this whole experience I have learned a thousand of the hardest lessons I have ever had to learn. I learned to keep my mouth shut. I told more of your life story to others than I should have; but at the same time, you taught me that it is ok to trust. Deep down people are good, and the benefit of the doubt may screw you over once or twice, but without trust you have nothing. I told things I shouldn’t have, but I told far less than you ever believe I did, yet you preferred to doubt me rather than trust me. That was your choice, but seeing what it did to our friendship made me realize that I never ever want to be like that.

You taught me that being the bigger person doesn’t always help. I reached out time and time again, but you pushed me away and I’ve learned that that is ok. I didn’t reach out because I thought it was what you wanted; I did it because I wanted my best friend back and that is what being the bigger person is. It is disregarding the awkwardness and stepping up to the plate and saying, I can do this anyways. Being the bigger person doesn’t mean you can fix everything, but you can try. You have to live with your decisions for the rest of your life. I wanted to fix things so I tried. I tried, and that is more important than anything else.

K, you taught me that there is a point in life where you need to just walk away. Walking away hurts. It gives me a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that seems to follow you around in my head. It hurts, but there is a point where you need to step back and realize that some people don’t want you to fix things. It’s not quitting. It’s accepting reality. Persistence can get you far in life, but along with persistence you need to have the judgment to walk away—not run away. Walk away. Leave the door open. But walk away.

The last thing you taught me was that it is ok to lose. People get rejected. People don’t get what they want. That is life. You didn’t want me even though I wanted you with all my heart, but that doesn’t make me any less of a person. I am still smart. I am still beautiful. I am still responsible. I am still a great dancer. You didn’t want to go out with me. You didn’t want to even be friends with me. But that is ok. You not wanting me, or any rejection for that matter, can never take any of that away from me. Only I can. Only I can make myself feel like an insignificant failure.

I love you, K. I really do. I still love you so much. I used to wish I could love you in other ways, but I don’t anymore. I respect the decisions you made. Though all of this you have taught me more than you could ever imagine, and I am forever grateful to you for that. You let me grow as a person and I needed that far more than I never needed a boyfriend.

K, age 17