Cryptic letter to a beloved old friend, who may read this

Here's the thing.

There have never been revolving doors in my life. It's been a hard policy: walk out of my life, the deadbolt snaps shut. Heart and sanity were happier and safer that way.

I made an exception a couple of years ago because the time, what was happening, demanded it. A crack had opened in my life, a hole full of forgotten things, moments, events. I needed to get them back, and see them.

You - above anyone - helped with that. You made it easier than I had any right to expect.

I place a high premium on friendship, and a high premium on loyalty. I work at it. I don't tear my friends down behind their backs, I don't play stupid high school clique tricks, I don't play games. Hell, I didn't even do that in high school; I'm certainly not going to start now.

I have abandonment issues, something you know and know well. So the current situation is a mystery to me, but you know what, you are one of the people I love best and I refuse to make your world harder by nagging.

I won't chase you, though. If we have to be passive-aggressive (and yes, this letter is precisely that - it's what I'm being given to work with, and who am I to blow against the wind?), then at least that much should be clear.

Don't know what the story is, don't know why the current behaviour is happening, but in the end, it doesn't matter. We all do what we need to do.

I'll always be there to cover your back, but the doorbell may need a good hard ring, because the mechanism in the revolving door is about to be disabled, for my own heart, my own sanity.

You, my friend, I will defend
And if we change, well, I'll love you anyway

Here if needed. Peace out.