Letter to a Friend

No wait, let’s say it again:

Letter to my friend.

Nono, let’s be more realistic:

Letter to my best friend.

No, no April, don’t. Let’s be honest with ourselves.

Letter to my EX best friend.

Yes, little motherfucker, I’m writing this to you (even if you don’t read this, and I know you won’t) but I need to do this, I need to think that I’m still talking to you, because I need this, and I need you more than ever.
So here it goes a small peak of what has been in the last year of my life:
I moved into a hostel (but you already knew that) and I started working for a company, so yes, I forgot what was like having eighteen years old at the young age of eighteen years and a half, sorry if we couldn’t have a mental breakdown together, I needed you because my life was( and is ) a mess, and you motherfucker weren’t there to catch up, to catch me up.
So days went on and on and the only thing I had from you was the memory of our last holidays, how we fucking rocked Brazil, how we little stupid bitches burned like hell after falling asleep in the beach at 1 pm and how we met those fucking sexy soldiers? do you remember? I know you do.
Or the times we danced Queen’s song in high school, how everyone rejected us but we just kept on singing from the bottom of our hearts the Beatles songs.
And that video that we filmed, moving our feet at “Sin Sin Sin” in literature class (Yes, you are smiling, silly crayon eater motherfucker)
(Oh I also have that cup that you gave on our very first friend’s day together, seven years ago, stupid motherfucker bitch, that cup with little cups in it, nowadays, if someone approaches I shout “WHAT YA THINK YA DOING?”, no one can use it but me, because it was a gift, your gift.
Anyway, your birthday came and the only thing that I felt I could possibly do was sending you a happy birthday Whatsapp, so I did, and then, eleven days after in October 16 was my birthday and you light up my world when I received your happy birthday message, because somehow, that meant that I was still in your mind.
“Can we take a coffee” How the fuck could I be such an arsehole?
Of course, you wouldn’t answer me with the truth, of course, you wouldn’t say that I did not deserve a second chance, because, of course, it seemed like I was living the American dream and that I had forgotten everyone that had ever existed before 2014. Did you think that I was having lots of fun? that I was getting super wasted, trying drugs? Dancing in bars and leaving with strangers?
Well I sort of did all of the above, and it meant something, it meant that I was so fucked up that I couldn’t tell anybody what was going on in my mind, no one that I have that trust, and you weren’t there, you were so mad with me leaving and trying to move on that you just did not notice that you Don’t leave your house and your family and your life behind if everything is ok and pink and smell good and there are hot waffles waiting for you on a Sunday morning you just don’t. BUT I DID. So guess what?
Nothing was ok in my head, I was a little bit too much wicked, and nothing was pink but my flip-flops and my bags by the time I left. Alone, with no help. with not even a text of “are you too heavy? do you want me to carry one of your bags?”
SO SORRY FOR TRYING TO PUT MY LIFE IN FIRST PLACE FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY SHITTY WALKING-AROUND-THE-EARTH AND FORGETTING WHAT REALLY MATTERS, THAT OBVIOUSLY IS NOT MY MENTAL HEALTH, oh wait, what?¿?¿?
So yes, I apologize for letting you behind for a couple of months, but having panics attacks wasn’t something that you would want to get involved. Sorry for being a fucked up mess.
BUT life went on, and I could stop faking smiles (because GUESS WHAT?!) I am TRULY smiling, I am laughing my fucking ass out because life is a wonderful and beautiful bitch, and I changed, I changed so much, that if you see me now you would start laughing and asking me why the fuck am I into weed. BUT IS NOT WEED, IS LIFE AND FOR THE FIRST TIME IN NINETEEN YEARS OLD IS AMAZING, IS LOVELY AND I FEEL SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO GOOD WITH MYSELF AND FOR FUCK SAKE I HAVE SO MANY THINGS TO TELL YOU LIKE HOW GOOD IS ADVERTISING, OR HOW GOOD IS LIVING IN A FLAT OR HOW CUTE IS THIS NEW CRUSH THAT IM HAVING AT CLASSES (that of course, it won’t last more than two or three weeks, but is so fucking awesome to feel this way that I simply don’t care at all) AND LOTS OF STUFF.

Thereisonelittleproblem, you are not around anymore, and I miss you and I need you and I won’t be able to talk and tell you everything that is going on.

I think I’m passing through phase 5 now, -talking about bereavement- which is acceptance and is about assuming that the loss is inevitable keeping in mind that acceptation is not the same as omission, (I would never forget how we shined in our best days)

I guess that I also changed my point of view, we grew up separately in different ways and there is nothing that I could do to change that.
So I if we never see each other again, I wish you the very best, and please, if you have kids one day and you are showing to them your photo album and my creepy face shows up, tell them my name, tell them how we pissed everyone off and how we danced, how we screamed, how we sang, if you don’t I will haunt you, and kill you and make you burn in hell, you little piece of shit.

Sincerely yours,
April, Cacho.

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