Death of Friendship

I knew it was coming. The times between seeing each other got longer, and the times spent together were shorter. I knew it was happening when something every time I saw you irritated me, or vice versa. I was only hoping that maybe, we'd make it until I left, so our friendship could fade away and we'd be left with the happy moments that make us laugh out loud when we're alone doing something that has nothing to do with anything. When a single word triggers a memory and makes us burst into a fit of giggles.

I don't know who I'm going to sit on the floor of my bed room drinking wine and laughing about the memories, the jokes and even the crap I have piled around. I don't know who to cook for, who to nag or who to worry about.

So lets raise a glass, one last time. Because it wasn't meant to be, because it was the best 85 years of my life, because of the laughter the tears and the strange looks. For the the candy bars thrown at us, the wine and alcohol we drank, the food we cooked, the drives we took and the servers who's lives we've changed. Raise a glass for the inside jokes, the late night musical drives, the walks, the adventures and the mozzarella sticks. And if not any of that, raise your glass because we've both changed, for the better, in some aspects for the worst. But we've changed, I've been changed by you, and I only hope that I had some effect on you.

"You'll be with me like a handprint on my heart."

Thanks for 85 years Emily, I was hoping to make it to 126, but we don't always get what we wish for.