Of friendship and love
Was it a long time ago, when we used to be friends? Friends. The kind of friend that you were to me. The one that I opened up to, and told you every little secret joy and pain there was to be shared?
When did I become who I am. Closed up with all these walls around me?
Reading all the lines in between. Every single one of them. Watching all my moves. Imagining every little thing meant something.
How long ago was that?
I’ve lost the art of making friends these days. Age is the funny thing. It catches up with you.
I am tired.
I don’t know how to act around you. Or anyone else else for that matter.
I don’t have any friends any more. I’ve chased all of them out. Instead, what I have is a handful people I am scared to be around of. I am scared they judge me. And that they don’t like what they see.
Just waiting for everyone to leave.