2003-06-01| 5:41 p.m.
I met you the summer before 7th grade, that summer where you still had braces and bangs and who knows what I had. They said we'd be the best of friends, and they were right. Six months later and we were three, three young girls who shared everything and spent long nights on the phone and had sleepovers all the time, every weekend. You were my normal childhood, you were my caring friends.
That many years, that many phone calls, that many discussions and tears and laughter. But not today. Today we are strangers and we'll try to make distant plans but neither of us seem to have the time, anymore. We were the best of friends and now we don't have the TIME.
You used to know everything about me, every last detail, and so did she. And yet talking to you just now, I started to say, "This weekend..." But I stopped. YOU WERE MY BEST FRIEND and yet I ended with "...was really cold and grey." I didn't tell you about the crash and the car and the glass and the charges and the alcohol and the energy sucking hole my life has become.
Instead I'm "in" with the people we hated.
You never could have told me where I'd end up so many years ago. I would have laughed and told you it would be like it was forever. And you could have smiled and said "Little girl, it's called growing up."