I miss those days
where you were my best friend,
and I was yours.

Where you were a walk up the road,
and I was a text away.
I would march out of my house,
across that old stone bridge,
always knowing that you were there to meet me halfway.
My room was a relief from all the stresses in your world.
A place where you could run whenever your sister criticized you,
and I would be there to console you.

Your home was my relief,
my safe haven.
I would strut into your old wooden front door,
as if it were my own,
and Bandit would be there for me to pet him.
We would lay there,
day after day,
night after night,
on that trampoline divulging our greatest secrets.
In that leather chair,
I would sit next to the fire,
and all I my fears had risen with the smoke.
I miss those days of sitting in your kitchen,
only dreaming of what we could do in the future.
Nothing could hold us back,
nothing could cap our imagination.

Your mom was mine,
and mine was yours.
I loved your family,
and you loved mine.
That was us.
Loving one another for who we were;
never questioning each other’s imperfections.
And now,
how much we’ve grown apart.
Where I must knock on your door before entering,
and Bandit growling at my now unfamiliar face.
That trampoline folded up in your garage,
that kitchen vacated,
that chair empty and cold.
What happened to our cupcake shop?
Our Bed and Breakfast?
Our never-ending list of things we were going to do?

I guess they too were lifted away with the smoke,
along with our friendship which I thought was everlasting.