A Letter to a Friend I Hurt: On Regret and Growing Up

Dear Tizza,

Hi.

I miss you so much.

I miss the way you laughed in that barely-there voice—your head tilted back, your pin-straight hair dancing in the wind. I miss your gentleness, your compassion, your calm. The kind of peace you carried so naturally. The warmth you gave so freely.

I miss us.

I miss the way you laughed at my silly jokes, the way you shared the little things that amazed you, the way you told me—so honestly—when I needed to straighten up.

I regret a lot of things. And one of them is walking away from you.

How did I let go of a friend who loved me so deeply?

I still think about that night—all those years ago. I regret the words I sent, the weight of them, the hurt they carried. I hated how much I cared, how much it hurt to see you choose someone else. I didn’t understand my emotions then. I didn’t know how to hold them without letting them spill over and break something good.

And I broke us.

I hate that I was the one who carried the knife that cut through our friendship.

I hate that I made you cry.

Even when we tried to talk again—through messages or in person—it was never the same. Something had already shifted. Something we couldn’t undo.

Now, I find myself speaking to the version of you I keep in my memory—the nineteen-year-old you. The you who knew me, who stayed, who cared. And I carry that memory with both love and regret.

Sometimes, I catch glimpses of you in the people who came after. And sometimes, I wonder—
Are you happier now?
Do you ever think of me?
Do I still exist somewhere in your story?

Maybe you’ve already let go of me. But I could never forget you—the only girl I trusted enough to cut my hair, the only one who held a piece of me that I didn’t know how to protect.

I hope you’re happy. Truly.

And maybe, one day, life will be kind enough to let our paths cross again—without the weight of the past. I’d like to smile at you then… not as best friends, maybe, but as something softer than strangers.

All my love,
Joy