I'll miss you most of all Scarecrow

I wrote that in a graduation letter to someone that didn't really like me that much at the time. When I was cleaning this weekend I found my diary from jr high-junior year. Oh it was deliciously dramatic.
I was flipping through the pages and kept seeing the same name pop up and realized that a good deal of that book had entries directly about or in relation to the same person. My dear friend Jake.
To spare us all the reliving of that time to sum it up would be that Jake and I were friends, then we were more, then we were way less then friends, then we were cautious friends, then we didn't talk, and now we're dear friends and I love him so very much.
The first entry in which he was named Jake approached the boy I was "dating" at the time and threatened to "kick his ass" if he hurt me in some way. I was aghast that he would have done that because he was this guy that I knew but didn't really know know at the time (ahhh high school). It continued through when he asked me to prom and I realized that he like liked me not just liked me (seriously, I wrote those ACTUAL words) I wrote about his mom not wanting us to date and how my sister and several grades of band geeks were intertwined in our drama in ways that only marching band members can be. I wrote (in detail) about "achoo bless you" and my 16 year old realization that putting people on pedestals is never wise. Falling from that pedestal doesn't only hurt the person that tumbles down, but the person that placed them up there in the first place.
I wrote of my completely irrational reaction to junk that had absolutely nothing to do with me, I wrote of the secrets I kept from him about another boy from another time and another part of my life. I wrote about the horrible way I pushed him aside for someone who turned out to be cruel and destructive. I wrote about the icy reception I received from someone I still loved so much and I wrote about the mistake it was quickly becoming apparent I had made.
I wrote about the things this other boy said and implied, the things that happened, the way the only person I really wanted to talk to about it was Jake because I remembered a Jake that told a boy once he would "kick his ass" if he ever hurt me, and this other boy hurt me. But I wrote about how I couldn't do that, because Jake wouldn't talk to me, my fault really.

As I was laying here, trying to fall asleep for the last several hours (curses!) and thinking about the good, bad, and ugly that happened between Jake and I, I kept thinking about those shared histories we have. Jake has a lot of my history, I have his. Everyday the words we say, the secrets we keep or reveal, the actions we take are creating a history with people we're in a relationship with. I have had at least 3 other diaries (although I call them journals now, because apparently that's more grown up) since then, and they're floating around here somewhere. I think about all those memories, and I think about the sweet spot of a friendship that Jake and I have now, albeit a long distance one since we're at opposite ends of the state...and I just think how much I love Jake, and I love that we're friends.