I remember how we met. I had known you for quite some time, but one way or the other didn’t get the opportunity to talk to you. I remember that sunny afternoon, when there was no one outdoors, and I found you sitting in the shade of some shrubs and sketching without the slightest realization that I was sitting just some feet beside you. After that brief introduction it was a matter of time we became friends since we had a lot of mutual friends.
Slowly, I realized that you became a really good friend. Who was there to hear me out. To advice me. To be bothered about the stupid stuff I did. You are a good friend, perhaps one of the best friends at university.
But then we had complications. I always say that none of the side in an argument is wrong. We all stand by our stances and we believe in what we stand for.
Perhaps that’s why I feel a guilty when I realize what has gone wrong between the two of us.
Perhaps I should never have talked with you in the first place.
Perhaps I should not have been there to care for you.
Perhaps I should not have listened you out when no one was there.
Perhaps I should not have made you realize that I care.
Perhaps I should not have done anything that made me special to you.
Perhaps I should not have been a good friend to you.
Perhaps I should not have been the good guy you always wanted to be with.
Perhaps I should have never let you cross the invisible line.
Perhaps I should have stopped you before it was too late.
Perhaps I should have let you be sad instead of being guilty.
Perhaps I should have let you cry instead of mourn at your actions.
Perhaps I should never have smiled at you in the first place.