forget paris

I spoke too quickly when I told her. One word overlapping the next. I wouldn't be going to Paris with her; everything we had planned was gone. An acceptance letter from the university I'd dreamed of had changed everything. We wouldn't be moving to Paris together. I wouldn't be going to Paris at all. I was headed to Toronto.

A stunned expression soon turned to tears, hateful words, and a distant friendship. I'd ruined everything. I hated myself. I hated her for hating me. One of my best friends now looked at me in the same way she'd looked at her worst enemies. Speak to me in short sentences that had no meaning.

There was a sense of forgiveness around the time of grad. We stood close to each other with glasses of champagne, something still missing. I'd taken away my word and lost a lot of respect.

Around the time of my birthday I tossed in my bed at residence. In my dream I returned to Vancouver to see her and she ignored me. Acted as if I wasn't there. The next morning I received a letter from her in the mail. She gave the best birthday gift yet. She forgave me. She said she had put too much weight on me at the time, taking out too many things on the wrong person.

The other night I went to her apartment with another friend and had dinner. The bonds between us all were still there. After a few glasses of wine we talked about how happy we were. She told me how much she saw in me, as if I was bursting with potential. That I had a glow. She showered me in generosity and love. It felt like I regained a friend. I might barely see her in the next year, but we've still got our connection; a pace to our conversation that doesn't come easily.

We'll both probably never forget Paris. Dreams made; lost; broken. But I don't think we could forget each other either.