Between the two of us, I guess it’s always you who concedes first, apologizes first. Serves you right, I used to think, for being the first to get infuriated, the first to feel unappreciated.
I could bear not talking to you for days, weeks, months—pleased with the fact that you would, most probably, chase me right after I walk out of the room, leave a letter or a poem on my armchair, nudge me on the arm by lunchtime. I took comfort in being the ‘girl’ friend, the one who couldn’t be needy, the one who couldn’t be clingy.
But now, it occurs to me—who cries foul and gives up easily on the friendship even if she’s the one who makes you feel infuriated and unappreciated almost simultaneously?
I feel so sorry for asking too much of you. I am so sorry to ask too much from you.