Good Friend?

You stare at me from a photograph. Your smile so beautiful, your face full of joy. It’s this very photo that’s making me hold my head in my hands and cry into my bare palms… how simply you take it all. How quickly you forget and how fast you change. For you it’s just another smile you suppressed, another unplanned word thrown in the air… but to me it’s way more than that. Way more. You’ve pulled out my soul from my body, sliced it into minute pieces and thrown them into a million corners of the earth. Now you expect me to find them, saying in your defense that you never told those words to me. Fair enough. You hurt someone with me as a reason to hold. What’s the difference? What is the reason? I should have known from the start that this would happen. I should have just taken a step back and walked away like anyone else would have. What made me think I could make a good friend?


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