I don’t know if you’re reading this right now. I mean, I gave you the url to my blog and everything, but by the time you look it might be buried beneath a swarm of other posts. Anyway.
This letter is, I suppose, an apology. Of sorts. Which I know I’ve already made and this is me once again being a melodramatic idiot, but that is kind of what you signed up for, sorry. This last year has not been great for us. I mean, it has, and it hasn’t. I don’t know why I stopped paying attention to you; I don’t know why I started zoning out and snapping at you. This is a personal blow to me, because I always thought you’d find someone smarter who could actually have a conversation about the stuff you wanted to talk about, but then I realised that it was enough for me to just listen. And I stopped doing that, which is stupid. It’s not what best friends do. It’s not what moirails do.
I stopped showing affection too, after exams. I don’t know why. Why the hell should I care if the school incorrectly assumes we date? Don’t ask me. Why should I know what happens in Stupid HQ, formerly known as Ellie’s brain. And then I went straight back into it, all “love meeeeee” and we didn’t really… touch each other any more. Ok I know that sounds dirty as hell, I can see you eyebrow wiggling through my effing screen. But I mean… just our knees touching or whatever, I can’t explain it, it’s like it grounds me.
I know that whenever there are a pair of best friends in a TV show, I go ‘mooooiiiirraaaaails’, which I worry means that you think I’ve got the definition wrong and that I’m calling a best friendship a moirallegiance. I’m not, though. If you could read my diary (which you can’t, ever, sorry) you’d see that I was pale for you for a while before I brought it up. In September of year 11, I wrote something about “protecting” you. In October/November when I had a small freakout about my sexuality, you were the only person I could even think to turn to. In March, when I was literally the last person to realise we were best friends, the thing that had been gnawing away at my chest had finally subsided. But soon after, it began again, because I knew the title I had for you, for us, didn’t fit right somehow. On June 13th, I really awkwardly brought up the idea of moirallegiance, and I always pretend to forget the date but I can’t because you were my best birthday present. I spent that year texting you almost constantly, and we can never replicate that, I know that much. I’ve been trying to make this year a repeat of the last and I think that’s why I was so unhappy, because you can never go back to where you’ve been, you can only look at the photographs and smile.
I think we’re going to be fine, though. I think we’re both trying, and we’re both talking to each other, and that should be enough. I find it hard to create the balance of showing you your worth and trying to ground you and steer you in the right direction. I know putting this on my blog is quite… impersonal, but I sometimes find it easier to just word-vomit onto a page, hit send and not think about the consequences.
The next few years are going to be hard, because if we both get what we want our dreams will take us in opposite directions. I think I said it when I was drunk, but I’ll say it again: I am blessed and cursed to have my soulmate at seventeen. I’ll be better next year. You will tell me I don’t need to be, but I do, and so I will. Sorry for the overdose of sappiness, like I said, melodramatic right?
I’m still pale for you.
Love, Ellie <>
(To everyone else reading this, this is overwhelmingly personal and probably incomprehensible if you haven’t read a webcomic called Homestuck. Moirallegiance is, very basically, the idea of a brotherly or sisterly love towards someone; a platonic soulmate who brings out the best in you.)