She was my friend. A different kind of friend. She was a friend in the melodramatic way that only teenagers can experience. She was broken, we all were. She felt too much of everything and not enough of what she needed. When I saw her I saw myself. She gave me what I needed. I needed freedom. I needed to say what was inside without judgment, without repercussion. And that's what she gave me. We never spoke we only wrote. I knew her, really knew her and I felt like -finally- there was someone who knew me. And she still loved me. And I loved her like she lived somewhere deep inside me. That's how it felt. Like part of her soul was intermingled with mine. When I saw her, the times when we were both pretending, she was someone else and I fell in love with that part of her person as well. I can still conjure her laugh, her smile. And my breath still catches when I do.
But she is not who she was. Maybe in some ways she is, I don't know. We all changed, we had to. But I recognize the others. I don't know who she is now. And her laugh sounds different.
2 years ago