Short Stories

So often, the friendships I build seem as if they’ll last forever.

So many secrets poured from one mind to another; so many tears shed in the name of boys and bullies and bitches.

It’s crazy to me the number of people I considered my closest friends throughout the years, especially when the distance between us is so glaringly obvious.

The end of a friendship is something I avoid and dread and fight against. I make excuses; I stand up for the wrong; I make an attempt to reach out; I put myself out there even though I know how the story ends. I try to ignore the signs that scream THIS ISN’T WORKING.

Some show or movie (can’t remember which) said some relationships are short stories and some are novels. I suppose figuring out how the tale ends is a part of growing up. These are the days when I find out who my lifers are, the weeding out process.

It still hurts a little, but it also helps you heal, letting go of a sore spot and moving on.

H, out.

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