You can stare at me all you like, with your cold, dark eyes. You can look forever with those empty sockets and your face in an immovable sulk and you can shove past me in hallways to make your point.
I don’t know if you realise that by staring at me in that hard gaze, forever hating, you’re creating an invisible line around you. They’re not drifiting because I’m the more popular of our old pairing, but because the void you’ve built between us is too dark to let any light through.
You’re problem is that you are so sensitive, and yet so insensitive in return. When we joked around calling each other names, you moaned that it hurt your feelings, and yet without pushing would call my mother a whore in your own warped sense of humour.
I think the problem has always rooted in our friendship, in the tense ropes that held our worlds together. We were just too far apart.
I think, if you would sever those thin ties over money, then we were never friends at all.