Someone I Used to Know


Sometimes I see a recent picture of you and think you look like someone I used to know. 

But I didn't. Not really. 

I only ever saw the parts you let me see—the parts that made it through the cutting and pasting and selective editing. 

I really didn't know you at all. 


I watched your recent video. Your voice is nothing at all like I remember it. 

I wondered if there was ever a time when we were really friends instead of fremenies. I thought it was because of me. I thought you had so much I didn't. I wanted it and I thought our push and pull was all on me. I though you simply didn't understand. I thought your life was easy because, to me, it looked that way.  

Now, as an adult, I can see you didn't have everything. I know now there were things I had that you didn't. There were things you wanted, and they didn't come easy to you.  

We were locked in a game of constant competition, but neither of us really knew why. We really didn't know each other at all. 


We went out for coffee recently. 

We talked about our present, but with a heavy view upon our past. There was a lot of "Whatever happened to..." and "Have you talked  to..." thrown in. 

But perhaps the most jarring was to see my former self the way you remember her. One foot out the door, ready for adventure. Ready for life. That's how you saw me. That's not how I saw myself. 

Thank you. And thank you for your grace because I know I wasn't always the person I wanted to be, but you saw through it anyway. 

I think, in some ways, you knew me better than I knew myself.