Unsent Letter

"You remind me of a paper kite on a power line - you see them all over the place, fluttering in place, some new and shiny and colourful, others tattered and shredded. But then you always said you were like a kite, born to fly high, 'buffeted by the winds, but taking strength from them nonetheless' (I remember your words exactly - as I remember everything else about you, and far too often, unfortunately). Yes, that's what you were like, as I remember you. Those were our better days, when you and could spend time together without getting into an argument, and saying things we would regret later (I don't know if you ever really regretted anything you said, but I did). There was a sort of contentedness then, a sense of being sated. So how did things change? When did I start holding you back? Your space? Was that what I was invading? Why would I hold you back? I didn't have the faintest until you said we were competing too much. So I became the metaphorical string that tied you down, kept you from your freedom, and I remained it. And when you demanded your freedom, I gave it to you, as if it were my treasure to give up. I didn't really weep, you know, because, I couldn't, and even if I could, I wouldn't have. Not for you.

And my friends brought me news of your success, and your failures, and how you were a different person now. But I remained a passive listener, simply because you once were, and you aren't. I knew your new friends, or knew about them, to be exact. Your so-called success was interesting, but only in a very generic curiosity-inducing way.

My friends still tell me about you, but I can't really say I sympathize. I am no longer the string, and you are no longer close to the ground. And yet, while you still are what you were, you are not free yet. For, if you are a kite, there will always be a string. And every time I see the kites fluttering around the power lines, I think of you.”