Regret

I wonder why it's so hard to say one word. I had so many chances to say, but I didn't. I knew it was going to happen, but I didn't stop it. Now, I'm here...and you're not.

"Oh, I don't know. Whatevers."

That's what you always said. Whatever you said to me, you'd forget the next minute. I've met you so long ago and yet, I feel that I somehow lost you along the way. Do you remember the day we met, under that tree? I was so happy that day. Then six years from that day, maybe a couple of days or weeks more, we met again. I wonder how you recognized me. I don't know why we met again, but I don't care. I had more fun those next two years after I reunited with you, but it ended really soon after that. She came along and then the two of us had a wall between us. I would sit next to you and you couldn't see me. When I talked to you, you wouldn't hear me. I'd always have to repeat myself twice.

"It's about time we stopped, right?"

We did stop. We gave up really quickly, too, not even bothering to try. I always held tightly onto your hand, hoping you wouldn't let go first. It was selfish of me and I was holding you back. You were so happy when you let go, like there was no burden, that I couldn't say a thing. I thought, "This is okay. If you're happy, then that's all that matters. Even if I'm not apart of that happiness, it doesn't matter." I told myself, "Don't get in the way. If my best friend is happy, then I should be happy for her. Don't get in the way." I watched your back shrink into the distance when you walked off that day. The both of us really changed, didn't we? I really did need you more than you needed me.

I promised myself that I wouldn't let anybody hurt you. I said I would protect you. In reality, I lied. I can't do anything - not for you, not for me, not for anybody.

"Do you really have to go?"

"...Sorry." You always said that, but you never meant it.

I wanted to tell you something, but I didn't have the courage to say it. I had so much to say, but I lost my voice when I found out.

"Your mind is like a house with a million doors, and you know what? I just don't have any keys." I told you that when we were just sitting there. You had no idea what I was talking about. I didn't understand you, even if I wanted to. I wanted you to give me a key; any key was fine, as long as it opened a door. It's too late for that now.

I helped your sister clean out your room, because she asked me to. Your room was messy, like always with plain, white wallpaper. Next to your bed was that table that still had our photo; the one we took on our eighth grade graduation. Your sister walked out to grabbed tissue to blow her nose. It was too much to handle, especially for her. In reality, I wanted to cry to, but I didn't. I somehow felt that I didn't have the right to. As if I didn't know you, I just packed all of your items. I sat on your bed when I was finished. The covers still soft, but cold. I heard your sister call my name and I walk out of the room, the door not closing behind me.

I look back at the room, mumbling to myself, "I'm sorry for always relying on you. I wonder...can you forgive me?" To your ghost that might have been lingering around, I finally realized that the door had always been open, just like all the others.