When you’re a kid, friends matter so much, too much. When you’re an adult, friend don’t matter nearly enough.
You were my friend who mattered more than anyone, ever. You were my brother and my sister, my opposite and my complement, my guiding hand and faithful shadow. You were everything that I now cherish about my formative years. You were the stuff cheesy, childish poems and immature fiction are made of.
Were, were, were. You aren’t dead. I just can’t figure out how you became past tense.
Is it my fault?
Did I distance myself from your needs?
Did I let men take me away?
Did I outgrow you?
I’m an adult, but sometimes I don’t think I’m finished being a kid. Sometimes I think about you and remember that you’re the friend who matters so much, too much.