I want my afghan back

Once Upon A Chef

Yes, you broke my heart. I tried to be grown-up. I tried to be a good friend to you when you turned your back on me on purpose. Epic fail.

In the end, I take full blame, because I was not enough of a friend to you, I was not what you needed. For that, I’ll always be sorry.

Remember that dream when I brought you a pumpkin bread, and you left me alone at this party full of strangers, not a backward glance, not a parting shot, nothing? More lies masked as reassurances from two people who knew better than to dignify the plebeian with the world on our shoulders.

I was right in the end. You did leave me holding the non-gluten-free pumpkin bread I made from scratch, up way past 2 a.m. to do it.

I wished you’d cut your losses early on. I wished you never said hi to me on the first message board I ever visited. I wished I never wasted so much time crocheting you that afghan, picking out colors I thought (hoped) you liked. I wished I never believed you shining me on about that friend/twin business.

We shared the same birthday, but not the same soul. We’re not twins. We never were.

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