I’ve never really known your side of the story. A year after we split up your best mate told me that you were so proud of our friendship, that it meant the world to you. Hearing that was enough to keep me hanging on to the feeble line I’d been thrown, clinging desperately like a ship wreck survivor. I suffered a million heart breaks every time I saw you. I wanted to cut and run and be free of the pain, to finally shake off the tiny shards that kept digging into me. Yet something kept me hanging on. And I came out of the tempest and never looked back. But every now and then I come to an impasse and I wonder why I went through what I did on the word of someone I didn’t even know that well. So I ask you and you tell me that I should know how important this friendship is, how much I mean to you. But how would I ever know when you never tell me why?