Dear You,

This letter isn’t about blame. It’s about truth. A truth I’ve held close to my chest for too long, trying to convince myself that it wasn’t as heavy as it felt. That maybe I was being too sensitive, too emotional. But the truth is—I was hurt. Deeply.

You were someone I thought I could count on, someone I considered close, chosen family even. We’ve laughed together, shared vulnerable pieces of ourselves, supported each other through storms. So when the moment came that I needed you to stand beside me, I genuinely believed you would.

But you didn’t.

You watched someone speak to me—about me—in a way that was degrading, cruel, and completely unjustified. You watched them chip away at my dignity, poke at my scars, and stir wounds that had taken me years to close. And you said nothing.

You didn’t defend me. You didn’t pull them aside. You didn’t check on me after. And when I tried to act like I was okay, you let me. Maybe that was easier. Maybe you didn’t know what to say. But silence, too, is a choice. And your silence screamed louder than any insult that was thrown at me that day.

What made it worse was your calmness through it all—like it didn’t register as wrong to you. Like watching someone cut me down in front of you didn’t faze you. I kept waiting for the apology that never came. The acknowledgment that you should’ve done more, said something, been something.

But it never came.

Now, there’s this distance between us. Not the kind that comes with time or life’s busy rhythms, but the kind that grows from unspoken pain. I don’t think you even realize it. Maybe you’re too preoccupied. Maybe you’re just over it. But I’m not. I’m still holding the shattered pieces of a trust I once thought was unbreakable.

I miss the version of you who saw me. Who noticed when I was hurting. Who stood beside me, not behind someone else.

I don’t hate you. I’m not even angry anymore. Just heartbroken. Because I expected more from you. Because I thought I mattered more. And because the silence where your friendship once lived echoes in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

If you ever find this letter—if you ever feel the weight of what I’ve written—I hope you don’t read it as an attack, but as a reaching out. I’m not asking you to fix everything. I’m just asking you to see it. To see me. To understand that even if the hurt was unintentional, it was still real.

And I’m still here, trying to make sense of how someone I cared for so much could be so unaware of how much they broke my heart.

Sincerely,
Someone who once trusted and loved you without hesitation or judgement.