It’s the man I used to call my best friend.
He finally owns up to the incident of the first quarter of this year: that when he began ignoring me out of no fault of my own – even when I was good, even when I was on my best behavior, even before I deserved all the cruelty – it was not solely because he thought of letting me widen my circle of friends without him; it was because he had found my replacement. And the replacement happened to be the close friend of the person he was hoping I would replace him with, who also happened to be the person he was avoiding because of a misunderstanding between the two of them. Strangely, the former best friend chose to avoid me and the person but not the person and the would-be replacement.
When I complained of being the collateral damage of their seeming feud, somehow I turned out to be the one in the wrong.
Until now, I don’t know how that happened. Guess I should have believed that little voice telling me back then: I finally met the man who would take my place in the life of my then best friend. But I didn’t.
I gave it—I gave him, I gave the two of them—the benefit of the doubt. I thought he just needed more people to support him through these trying days. I believed that he just needed more friends. I said that he could use more good distractions.
This is where it all led to: the sword finally falling on Damocles’ head, dirty, bloody, and messy. He’s now dead.
Some fools believe. Some fools doubt. Some fools give the benefit of the doubt.
like reading on trains 