Letters Unsent

All these letters we never wrote and never sent.
They write themselves in our minds, and we wish so hard we could
deliver them, but the words never reach our tongues.
I found Noura's letter last night, the one she never thought I would
read, which is why she wrote so honestly. She should have been my best
friend, the one who could tell me anything, but here in my hands lies
the proof that we're nowhere close.

She thinks I don't listen when she talks. She complains I'm too wrapped
in my own dismal life to care about her own. That time at the coffee
place, when I was paying the bill, and she thought I wasn't paying
attention, I was actually listening to every word she said. God gave me
the gift of multi-tasking, and there I was, calculating my part of the
bill and listening to how her day was.
And yet, based on her assessment, we're not what we used to be. Things
have changed. Our friendship is not perfection.
I look down at this letter, and my heart sinks.
I guess she must be right. If she can no longer trust my ability to
listen, then things must have changed.

This letter builds up in my mind and I wish I could send it, tell her
I'm sorry we went wrong, even though I can't remember where and when it
happened, maybe we never did, maybe our friendship was built on love,
and nothing else. Maybe love is not enough.

Here I am, mother of a million lost friendships and broken
relationships, wondering what it is I do wrong, for so many promises to
fall flat.
I know I can love, I have the heart to prove it, but somehow these
loves, platonic or sexual, only last a few seasons, before we get bored
of each other's voices, the same old jokes, the way we eat, the
careless comments, our determination to shape whatever this is into a
perfect friendship, with roles that none of us want to play. If only we
could just settle for the moment, and understand that friendships don't
last forever. Their sweetness lasts a while, too short to relish and
not long enough to understand.

I think of all the names I have loved and laughed with for so long, and
now that they're gone, I wonder if they, like Noura, had letters they
were too scared to give, that might unravel me, untie the promises we'd
made.
I wish now, with all my heart, that they would have had the courage to
tell me the truth. I wish Noura had shown me the letter herself,
instead of my stumbling upon it at the bottom of the box, tucked into a
corner, waiting unsent but not wanting to be found.