I admit, I have searched your name in Facebook and visited your page. I have read your posts in anonymity hoping that I might have been remembered in some way. But your words and the spaces between them escape even one nuance to reference the fact that we were once friends. Your words only reflect a life devoid of our shared past.
I admit, I have been missing you since the last time I heard your voice at the end of the receiver excusing yourself not only from the call I made but from whatever connection we had. I admit, even if you call me an ass or a jerk, I would still consider you a friend. Even if you never really told me why after 15 years I suddenly was not yours, I would still consider you a friend.
But now I have to burn my end of our bridge with regret as I think it does not connect to anywhere anymore, although it can still be rebuilt. One of these days I might just get the urge to initiate contact once more since you really have not. For now, my pride has taken over the driver's seat. It is off to a direction not unlike yours -- it is on its way directly opposite yours. But who knows, we still share the same friends. There is every likelihood that our paths will cross. If that happens, I would go by feel and decide what to do right there and then. You see, despite my pride, I can never reject you as a friend. The most I can do is to archive you to memory.