Inbox

    Surely, it was a mistake, but I sent the thing anyway. Thinking back, I realize how much of a mistake it was, letting her in. She said no matter what demons haunted my past, she wouldn’t leave. She’d always have my back. What a fool I was, thinking I could trust her. She ran away, just like everyone else.
    I told her my story. I told her of the last few years of my life. The important parts, anyway. I told her of the death of a close friend. Somehow, I saw my friend in her. I saw her kindness, her ambition. I saw the way she cared about me and my problems.
    Was it all fake, the way this girl cared about me? Was she just pretending? But why? Why would she lead me on and pretend to be my friend, when she could have said no at the beginning, and saved me so much grief?
    I also told her of the things I have done. I told her of the people I’ve hurt, the friendships I’ve destroyed, and all the things I regret ever doing. Maybe that’s why she ran. Maybe she just couldn’t face me after I told her what I’ve done. Maybe she couldn’t handle the fact that I went against her beliefs, against my beliefs. They are unforgivable, the things I’ve done. But I thought that was what she was about, forgiveness.
    So here I sit, staring at my inbox, hoping for a reply that I know isn’t coming. Hoping that, for once, I’m wrong. Hoping that, for once, someone does actually care…



Apprx. 275 words