“Sometimes I think it is of no use to make friends. They only go out of your life after awhile and leave a hurt that is worse than the emptiness before they came.”
The tears would fall like thunderstorms in July and musicals where the people suddenly burst into song and dance. Randomly and at inopportune moments.
She felt the grief of loss. Not in death, but in life.
One by one, they were stolen away. Separated by time and distance. Parted by jealousy and petty grievances and differences of opinion. She lost wars against their lovers, their careers, their futures.
Friends who simply stopped all forms of communication. Boys who chose anything and everything but her. Friends who chose love over friendship.
She remembered them all fondly, and grief turned into acceptance, and she set the wounded bird free, knowing it would never return.