Over the years, friends come and go. You have those who you
can go ages without talking to, and a phone call wipes away the months or even
years, almost instantly.
There are people that come into our lives that we find an
immediate connection with. Sometimes those friendships “stick”, often, they don’t.
On the rare occasion, we find a friend who we open ourselves
up to. It’s never an immediate thing. Often over years, but at some point, we
realize they are the only person in our life we can tell everything to. All of
our deep dark secrets; they won’t judge, because they've done the same.
Something happened today and I realized I had no one I was
willing to tell. It saddened me. I've always thought of myself as an open book.
I hide very little. I was very wrong about that. I have the outer me, that is
most definitely an open book, then I have the inner me. The one I've really
only ever showed one person. Now that person is forever gone. So I find
the inner me angry and mourning that loss, once again.
So what do I do? I write. Do I write about what I am still
unwilling to share with anyone? Of course not. I write to help me understand
and to grieve the loss of an irreplaceable person and friend. Dead though you
may be, forgotten NEVER...
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