But you'll be on my mind

I never quite understood the flow of friendship. The give and take. Mostly I just give. I give until I'm limp and dry and crawling across the floor with fatigue. Or at least I used to. This is how I met the types of friends who only know your phone number when all their hip associates are busy. The type of people who never have 10 dollars in their pockets to get into a movie, and don't tell you until you're next in line for the tickets. (batting eye lashes) "Could you please pay for me this one time?" The type that never hear a word you say, but always lay their problems on your head. The Toxic Friends.

Well, my last toxic friend used to be a high school crush of mine. I knew him before he spoke English, and through him I sharpened my Spanish-speaking skills. He was adorable, down to earth and very sweet when he first arrived. And then...slowly he began to change. Sadly, he became toxic. Well, I invited him to my wedding and he called me (rather than RSVPing) to say he would come "Of Course!". He told me to tab a couple places for him and a date. I counted him amongst my guests, but in my heart I knew he'd never show his face. I don't know why, but I knew. I also knew that his failure to appear (with zero apology or explanation) would be the end of our friendship. the end. And it was. Not because I'm shallow or vengeful or anything like that. But because I called him on his broken promise. Asked what had happened, and he never responded.

I tend to shed people like dead skin. Not because I'm shallow, like I said. But because I understand that carrying someone around who doesn't deserve to be carried... that can be poisonous to your aura. Self preservation is sooooo important to me, the older I get. And so there is a person I'm wondering about. Dean. I have his number in my phonebook. I've known him for a while now. And regrettably I'm no closer to him now than I was at "hello". I just can't justify maintaining this facade...this dream that we'll be good friends some day. I mean, hell he doesn't even call me. I can't even send a Christmas card because I don't know where he lives. So maybe I need to shoot this dying dog and move on. Maybe I need to let this carcass of a friendship rot in the sun and move on with my life. But I can't stop thinking about what might've been.