Going back to the old analogy, I suppose we clicked and clacked. Therein lay the problem.

We had a stop and start sort of kinship, and I never knew if I should knock on his door. Were we actually the stop and say hello, accept the offer of coffee kind of friends? Was there going to be a smile on the other side of the door as I made my way up the walk?

I was over-analyzing, per usual, but this one really was a riddle. There were good days and bad days; awkward silences one moment, laughter and grins the next. There had to be some sort of a logic hidden in there somewhere — I simply had to crack the code and figure it all out.

Finally, I gave up trying to decipher. The idea of a cryptic kind of friendship incensed me — but I didn’t think us close enough friends to bother sharing the thoughts.

With all the maturity I could muster, I deleted him from my MySpace.

Classy, eh? I know. Envy me.

I told myself that out of MySpace was out of mind and set to not giving a damn about a friendship that never quite took. After all, I was sure he hadn’t even noticed.

So why is it that I’m sitting here, the day after Christmas, listening to particularly melodramatic John Mayer and looking at my phone mid-self-lecture on the many reasons why I shouldn’t send a former quasi-friend a message telling him that I’m thinking of him?

Simple. If we weren’t close enough to argue, we were never close enough to warrant an apology.

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