Asked by a friend why I let his text bother me, the only response I could come up with was I don't know. I also don't know why sitting in the sunshine on the deck gazing out at snow-covered peaks a few days ago, the thought that popped into my head was of him.
That he would have enjoyed the day. The sun. The beer on the deck.
I enjoyed the day. It was amazing. The company was amazing. But sitting across from another, laughing at his jokes, only made me wish it were him.
Therein lies my answer. Although I'm working on it, I'm not yet completely over him.
That's why it still bothers me. That's why his words hurt still. Why hearing from him still makes me sad, makes me miss him. Why his offers of friendship, although always abandoned soon after, only remind me of how he always said the right words only to be followed by his actions falling short.