We are eighteen years old, and my best friend unfollows me on Instagram.

We are six years old, and sitting next to each other in a science class,

we are eight years old and making daisy chains on her lawn

we are twelve years old and dancing in the warm summer rain

we are fifteen years old and planning our future weddings while we flip through bridal magazines on her bed

and we are eighteen and I tell her that I am gay and she unfollows me on Instagram.

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We are eighteen years old, and my best friend stops touching me.

we are seven years old and holding hands as we cross the street

we are nine years old and sharing a bed at sleepovers

we are eleven years old and sitting in the closet in her bedroom as we stick glow in the dark stars on the wall, legs tangled over each other's

we are twelve years old and stuck in the top branches of her apple tree, clinging to each other like we’re the only things keeping each other safe

we are fourteen years old and squished together in the backseat of a car, singing along to Disney songs at the top of our lungs

we are seventeen years old and curled under a shared blanket, mugs of tea in our hands and our seventh episode of Parks and Rec on the screen in front of us, the winter night dark and cold outside, but it’s warm under the blanket together.

We are eighteen years old, and I tell her I am gay and my best friend stops touching me.
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We are eighteen years old, and she tells me she wants to talk.

We are eighteen years old, and she tells me how hard this has been for her.

We are six years old and newly friends

we are eight years old and under my bed as we hide from our parents so maybe she can stay a little longer

we are nine years old and sharing a milkshake because our moms said we couldn’t have one alone

we are twelve years old and saying we’ll always be best friends, even when we’re tiny old ladies

we are fifteen and asked if we’re sisters, and she grabs my hand and tells her yes

we are seventeen and I am sitting in the car in the parking lot of Children’s Hospital, crying because it’s unsure if she’ll ever come out of this darkness that she went into

and we are eighteen, and she tells me how hard this has been for her,

to find out that her best friend was one of THEM, like the word "gay" is a dirty one, 

and I leave the table because we are two six year olds in the lunch room at school, and she is offering me a cookie because she has two,

and we are eighteen and she is letting the gender of those who I choose to love overshadow twelve years of friendship even though she claims to love.

we are eighteen, and my heart is broken glass because I love her like we are family and that love is unconditional, and I thought she was the same.
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We are eighteen, and I tell the girl I have considered my sister that I am gay, and she unfollows me on Instagram.