I wonder if I wasn't there for you - if I wasn't actively involved in your life. I didn't appreciate your memories, your adventures, your witty one-liners. Your opinion on politics, on current affairs.
Maybe I was too quiet. I didn't say enough, didn't respond enough. I wasn't excited enough about your dinner plans, your new job, the movie you went and saw. Maybe I didn't listen when you complained about the traffic, didn't offer enough support in regards to your noisy neighbours. Maybe I forgot your birthday.
Facebook friend 689, I'll miss you. And I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that the events leading up to my deletion were so severe you didn't feel you could simply remove me from your feed - you had to remove me from your profile all together. I'm sorry you were no longer interested in the latest photos of my dog, my most recent holiday, my constant links to animal welfare organisations. I'm sorry if I didn't update my status enough - if I updated too often. I'm sorry if my check-ins made you want to smash your iPhone on the ground in a jealous rage because I was doing the locomotion with @Lainey Fitzpatrick and @Will Tremayne and you were home alone watching The Big Bang Theory.
Maybe it wasn't even about me. Maybe you're so hipster you simply have to keep your numbers down, you can't have too many friends. Maybe you deleted me because I am a Facebook junkie, and my decision to add @Akmar Ramasavarga from Turkey offended you. I'm sorry I thought my non-rejection of him, a man who has never done anything wrong by me that I am aware of, would be more offensive to you than my blatant disregard to the very definition of the term 'friend'.
Mostly I'm sorry I don't know who you are. But I'll miss you. Because now I'll likely never get to 700 friends.
