HI THIS IS ME RANTING ABOUT A FRIENDSHIP THAT ENDED PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK K BYEEE

Dear E, 

It has been several months since I ended the friendship and today, the autumn breeze felt like being a dumb twenty-something, broke as hell, finding a piece of myself in the bottom of a whiskey sour. It was never a whiskey sour, though. I was too scared to ask for anything other than a vodka cran because you showed them to me and it felt like I was gulping down the glue that held us together. Drunken autumns full of promises of a friendship that would last forever. And I am angry. The anger curdled my morning like spoiled milk and I could feel it in my aching hip. We were walking home and you told me that the way I got hurt that one night wasn't real hurt. There is deeper hurt in this world, and coming from you. You, the preacher of love and grace and understanding. It stung. It still stings, but even deeper, I am left to look into what was reflected back at me. In every cup of liquor. The one that would tip you over into saying something that hurt. "Well, if," you'd begin the next morning over a cup of coffee, "If I said that, then I hope you have the grace to forgive me." (What is grace without movement? I lay my woes down before you, the very woes you created like some messy god, and it all stays stagnant.) I don't. Not anymore. Not when I waited patiently for you. You've managed to bastardize half the English language. This is emotional labor. No it's not. It's checking in on someone who has dealt with alcoholism for the last two years before they have the sip of whiskey that makes them relapse. I'm practicing self care, you say as you berate me for being concerned about your smoking habits. You speak to me as though I know nothing. You talk down on me. I swallow my words when I really just want to spit them back into your face. It's my birthday. I'm allowed to be a diva. So I'd wake up extra early and fall asleep mid preparation. The last $20 I had. This year, it was $90. I meticulously paid attention to everything. The music you listened to. The items you'd linger at at the store. The things you were going to come back for. You had the money. You wouldn't shut up about your inheritance. You got me stick on earrings for my birthday. V told me that. I'd spend every last penny I had for your gift. And you just let me down. You wanted to take me to a memorial concert for an artist you liked. You barely asked about me and what I wanted to do. You never showed any interest in it.  You'd talk about how you deserved this and that and then tell me about how this person went above and beyond for you and I did nothing for you despite staying up extra late trying to find something that was good enough for you and once I moved out, you got upset at the fact that I wasn't there enough for you, YOU WEREN'T THERE FOR ME! I went nights not knowing where my next meal was going to come from. Nights crying in bathroom stalls because I didn't know how I was going to pay rent. Blistered feet from walking miles to get a fucking sandwich and I wasn't there for you! You wouldn't even respond! And I hate you for it. I hate you so deeply. I hate you because you hurt a lot of the people I loved. I hate you because you would constantly talk over me and belittle me and steal my jokes. I hate your stupid fucking nasally voice. I hate you because this autumn morning was nice. And I don't drink anymore, but they reminded me of a simpler time. Waking up on my mom's couch, nowhere to go, so I'd shoot you a text and we'd take time to get pretty that night and barhop on the square. You and me and a shitty vodka cran. Laughing. Telling unfunny jokes. The night sky rolled itself out before us like an eternal carpet and I guess that we never got to see what was on the other side of it. And it's okay. Tonight, I get to lay in my own bed. I've got my own bed now. I'm learning how to stretch $3 as far as my arms can reach and tonight, I am going to eat good, goddamn it. And tomorrow? Tomorrow, I will be one day closer to forgetting about those  nights. 

 -  Cas

             ps. I got the job...