October 14, 2020:
But I grieved for that friendship. Many times I still do.
We offered each other at least the possibility of communication. She played guitar, read books, wrote. She was a grad school intellectual, roughly the way I lived at the time. We had enough overlap to say more to one another than merely hello and what shows do you watch.
Yet not enough. We never spoke in detail of our broken hearts, of depression or addiction or our reasons for being. In the end we crossed our wires because we didn't know what or where each others' wires were. So that I electrocuted myself on her third rail without knowing until that moment that it existed.