I have to be honest with the kitchen at least, since no one else is up.
She texted me in March. A real one, not a meme. 'hey, are we okay?' and I read it standing right here, by the kettle, and I decided I'd answer when I had the words. I still don't have the words. It's June.
The truth is nothing happened. There was no fight. She didn't do anything. I just got tired in a way I couldn't explain to her without it sounding like an accusation, so I said nothing, which is its own kind of accusation, I guess.
I tell people we drifted. Drifted is a nice word. It makes it sound like weather, like neither of us steered. But I steered. I steered by sitting very still every time her name came up.
Tonight her name came up. Someone tagged us both in a photo from years ago, back when we were loud.
I'm not going to text her. That's the part I'm trying to admit. Not that I can't. That I've decided not to, and I keep calling it something else.