I remember the time you told me I’d probably enjoy watching “Family Feud.” I didn’t know you were right until ten years later, taking a break from filling out job applications. I didn’t do that on purpose either. Oh no. Whenever “Family Feud” was on back then, I was too busy trying to graduate. After the pressure of trying to fit in faded, I felt free to turn on the TV. It feels kind of wrong you can’t be here right now for me to tell you in person, but I know the way things turned out was the way it was supposed to.
There’s a piece of you sitting on my bookshelf. You cemented your place as my friend when you made that disappointed face after I told you I showed my mom the note you left for me in the inside front cover of a novel I lent you and she asked, “Who is that?” I thought it was funny, but you did not. That’s the moment I knew you had been hoping I saw you as more than a friend. You left that note in pen. Cheeky. A permanent stain for a temporary moment.
Now I see your updates with her on Facebook. I am happy for you because we both know I could never be that girl in the end. I’ve never met her, yet I know she’s a much better fit for you and obviously you know it too or you wouldn’t have married her. Still, there you are, a note inside a book sitting on my bookshelf. The memory of my mom asking who you are sticks with it. Talk about a family feud.