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When someone hears the word friendship, they think of good times. They think of someone the can rely on. Someone the can trust and talk to. They think of the precious memories that will never fade from their mind. Like a picnic that accidentally ended up in the river so they decided to go for a swim. They think of the time they’re parents got divorced and there was that one person they could talk to about it. They think of that time when an antagonist was throwing them down, and they had that one person to pick them back up. They also think of the little things; a shirt borrowed and returned, a lunch paid for, a simple ride home.

Lately.


When I think of the word friendship, I get a pain in my chest. I wonder why he would do something like that. Why would he assume? I think of all the good times we had together and I throw them all away. I think that I don’t need him, but I probably will in the end. When your dad died, you think of that one person you could talk to, and it just happens to be him. Sometimes that’s not the case. Sometimes the thought of him makes your stomach churn with anger. When he looks at you you imagine what it would look like if he were squished. You don’t go back to him, even if he tries to come back to you. You’ll make new friends. With your trust entangled with problems, each friend will be better.



The truth about that is, if every friend became better, people would stop getting hurt.

And that’d be too easy.