Emotional Torture.

The friend I wasn't supposed to lose.

I hate the breeze of august and the smell of fresh espresso, I envy every two friends I see walking the street and hate the sound of airplanes because these things all connect back to you. I hate how the roads of this city all lead back to your apartment on the 4th floor of a rusty building that saw me grow from a tiny kid to the woman I am today.

The barista of the coffee shop wonders why I'm alone for the first time since I was 13. I order my same old drink this time only one cup instead of two. I sit and look outside at the cars, A girl passes by, I hallucinate for a minute and allow my brain to think that it's you. It isn't. No. Can't be.

You're present in every single memory from the day I stepped foot into our school, the school I'll never visit because two best friends are going to be sitting where we once sat. Every brick there holds a memory, the desks we cried on and the little space behind the stairs where we shared our loudest laughs. You inserted yourself in every detail of mine and I was more comfortable that way. Honestly, no friend is going to see the most carefree side of me that you saw.

Last call, before the gates of your airplane opened, it felt like I was 15 again. Spending four hours on the phone, your dad gets angry at the phone bill and we just laugh about it.

I haven't cried. Not once. I firmly believe that everything happens for a reason, and I'm happy your life is starting somewhere new. You've always been far more interesting than I'll ever be. I have to learn to be my own character again, I might make friends that won't know you, and it's odd. We've shared every friend since we were on the playground wearing cheap friendship bracelets.

Might be a while before I can walk by your house again.