You were my best friend

And now you aren’t.
And what should I do about that?

About the memories, and selfies, and the times that we called the other for no reason at all,
except maybe to brag, or gag over what he’d said, or to stave off his advances or stall.

You were my best friend.
And now you aren’t.
And what should I do about that?

Remember when we grew up children, and plotted excuses, and washed dishes, and made plans without any reason or rhyme?
How we’d stay up all night, and didn’t care if it was right to sleep well past the noon hour light, no regard for the time?

You were my best friend.
And now you aren’t.
And what should I do about that?

You’re in my photos – the ones I’ve printed, and framed, and the ones I’ve stored away in the file folder in my mind.
I can hear you laugh, and I can see you smile. I could recognize that one little lilt in your voice away from miles and miles.

You were my best friend.

You knew my parents. And my sisters. And my secrets. And my flaws.
You cured me of shyness, of loneliness, of emptiness, and saw beauty where I never thought there was.

You were my best friend.

How I miss you. I miss you, and I think of you, sometimes daily, sometimes more.
I wish for nothing but the best for you, for your husband, and your children, and your friendships, and your courtships, and for what all life has in store.

You were my best friend.
And now you aren’t.
And what do I do about that?

I won’t dial your number today. And I won’t tomorrow. You know that. And so do I.
I don’t need a good cry, and I don’t need a goodbye. I don’t even need to know for certain that you’re alright.

Because you are.

You are someone else’s best friend.
Not mine.

— c โ˜†

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