I know it’s my fault that I’ve forgotten your birthday (although I could check the info from your facebook account). But something happened recently reminded me of the dinner we had to celebrate your birthday.
It seemed an age ago, that dinner. And looking back, I felt privileged that you invited me for that dinner. I thought we were that close.
It is with a tinge of sadness when I realised how something must have pulled us apart. I thought you would have shared with me about a recent development in your life. You didn’t and it hurt.
I’m trying to get over this. C’est la vie, I’ll tell myself, although I felt betrayed. You were once privy to bits of my life I wouldn’t have told anyone else about. (Afterthought: Who cares about the bits of my life anyway?)
Perhaps this is another lesson learnt for me. Don’t give people access anymore. Don’t pepper stuff about your life when you’re with people you (think you should) trust.
It’s better to express and let things out by writing. Talk about it in the third person, if you like. Don’t give any context about it when you type things out. Make that piece of prose as vague as possible, so that it gives you the catharsis without spilling out too much in public.
You just have to hide. Until you find someone one day whom you can trust. Even then, there’s no guarantee that you will one day be held hostage to your secrets or emotions.
Guess the best strategy is simply to hide or cover everything with something translucent.