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You were adaptable--I guess that would be the nice way to put it. I could see your morals shrinking when you were thrown into a crowd of people who you wished to emulate. I wish I could've told you what a jerk you were, but I was too preocuppied with being a miserable little wretch. And what would it have helped?

You let those idiots fill you with lies. I'm afraid you believed them. I could see you struggle all those times and you have no idea how much I wanted to reach out and comfort you. Why didn't I? Because I never had the guts to say anything confrontational to you...it seemed there was always this invisible boundary which prohibited me from being completely serious around you. Did you feel the same? Maybe when we were younger, and we had so many problems between us, and we never said a word about them we lost some part of our friendship that could never be created without experiencing that pain we would both feel. Even now I can't bring it up. And it eats me alive. I fear you think I'm some sort of monster who still believes you are a liar. I can't remember all the times I've determined to call you, or write you an e-mail and explain everything and make it right again. Not that it's wrong now...it's just incomplete. I think I should write you, though. We both always loved reading.

I never apologized. When this fight within my mind finally subsides I hope you will still be around to hear me cry. But I don't want you to cry. Because it's not your fault...

You're a marvelous person. Everday I think how amazing it is that you've overcome such obstacles within your life and have developed into such a strong-willed person. You've always been overly intelligent and peceptive. That's why I sometimes feel uncormfortable around you...I think you'll understand a part of me which I have yet to comphrehend myself. I've envied your faith--how blashphemous is that? You've encouraged me in ways you could never know and in areas of my life I doubt I could ever bring myself to openly confess.

You are this, but you are also your imperfections. You can't regain what shape you once had...streched and torn and shrunk from years of pain...but that only made the fibers stronger. And those parasites that once ate at your soul have left their eggs implanted underneath your skin, only awaiting a slight miscalculation of self-confidence to emerge and resume consumption. But I know you have them beat and this conquered conflict only adds to your beauty. You are death resurrected.

As long as I wait for the right moment to ask your forgiveness, the rift between us only increases. Perhaps I'll send this to you and maybe you'll read it. But that grants nothing, not even my peace of mind. I long to hear you say you forgive me. You don't have to apologize...I long ago forgave you. Mine is the greater wrong, though it was not lying or hatred or rejection.

It was denying you my pure friendship and not giving you another way out.

i'm so sorry.

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