I was hurt that you left me behind. I knew it would happen sooner or later, and the growing number of people you allowed into your group and the increasingly frequent times that you left me out of your conversations clued me in enough. I knew it would happen, but I hoped desperately that it wouldn't. I know you tried. You talked to me, even as the rest of the group grew wider apart from me, and it was because of this that I knew when you and her would grow further apart.
But I didn't broach it. Maybe because I hoped it wouldn't? Maybe because I hated that you only came to me when you couldn't talk to her? Then you told me about how she doesn't talk to you anymore and how the gap between you was growing wider.
I'm actually a little envious that you can be so open about it. I'm the kind of person that bottles everything up and doesn't let my emotions slip. I laugh and pretend because that is how I cope, how I've always coped with hurt and loneliness. So yes, I am a coward, and maybe that is why I've always drifted away from the groups of friends I know and care about.
Even so, I comfort you and I won't tell you about these things because they will make you feel bad, since that is the kind of person you are. I don't think you left me out on purpose, but I hate that you didn't even notice that you were leaving me out. It's only because of that that I can still honestly care for you and call you my friend. I don't want you to stop being mine either, even though the definition is more loose for you.
I don't talk about it because I don't trust you. I don't trust you enough to fight with you and still be friends afterwards. I'm not confident in the bond that we have. There is only one friend that I'll really fight with and that is because she is the one I trust the most. I trust her enough that I believe that she'll still be my friend even if we disagree sometimes. Because I know the hurt that comes about when my friend falls apart with me, so I had already decided not to fight with a friend until I can trust them. I fight with other people too, but that is, more often than not, because I don't really care if they hate me or not.
Like I've said before, I'm really envious that you can wear you heart on your sleeve. The only friend I can fight with is the same. She's blunt and a little selfish, but that is part of her charm, even if it can be a little frustrating at times. She's earnest, outspoken and more honest than anyone else I know. She trusts me enough to let me keep her secrets, even though I won't always tell her mine. She's my Duchess, little Alice, like the Caterpillar is an emotional support to you. You're similar to her, the Duchess; both of you can speak what you think and are confident in yourselves.
I can't be like that. I can't confide in you or the Duchess, or that Caterpillar who once came by me. I've told you that I'm and Atheist, but sometimes I pray because I can't tell some things to anyone else. Sometimes I pretend to talk to my Grandpa too, because I don't know much about God. I do this even though I tell myself I don't believe in life after death, I think it's a lie as well, but I can't be sure. I can't even be honest to myself. I hide and hide and bury my feelings and thoughts deep inside me while pretending that everything is alright and everything is okay.
You don't know this because you were willing to confide in me. You don't know that I buried my hurt and tried to comfort you; you don't know that I break a little every time I hear from you that you are upset that your relationship with her is falling apart. I break because that was how I felt too. I don't know and won't ever know if the magnitude of your hurt was greater than mine, but it still hurts because it feels like you are stabbing at old wounds and its awfully ironic that you are telling me how I felt back then.
It's like I'm watching you in my shoes. You said that it's as if you're in a glass dome in part of her world. That her world is brighter than yours in color while yours is black and white. But if that's the case, then what am I? My world wouldn't have any white left because everything is black; so black that even you shudder against it.
As you place your hand on the thin glass between your world and hers and complain that it's cold, I watch you from the perch of a blackened, dying tree whose leaves have already blown away. The little Red Princess, the to-be-Queen, has left. My Duchess only visits once in a while, but because she is the Duchess, I am content with that. The March Hare and the Hatter are at their eternal tea-party or maybe in the Looking Glass, I don't think they'll ever visit me back in the tree as I give you directions to to the House of the Caterpillar, even if you think that the glass is still blocking your way, you are closer than you think.
Maybe I'm not the Cheshire Cat. Maybe I'm the Mock Turtle, sad without actually having any sorrow and this isn't something I'm supposed to upset over, but somehow, I think being the Cat suits me better. Cats are loners, after all.
I don't hate you because I can't, and you are bright and honest like what I want to be. The Cheshire Cat only has a head and no heart, so that is no surprise, don't you think, Alice?
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