We Were Friends

Once joined by explosive laughter, a disdain for fellow females, an appreciation for obscenity and vulgar humor – and now, we’re stuck between two heavy books pressing all of the fragrant juice from our wilting, aging petals. Now, we’re separated by space and time and bitterness, grasping for memories fringed with orange happiness, treasured moments flavored with golden liquor. And this is what happens when maturity conquers innocence, experience trumps bliss; this is what happens when telephone lines are vacant compared to two bodies warming together in a giant bed, and laughter, not quite so contagious, counts less than before, and the spark of friendship, less important than logic and reason, freezes into the dirty, black snow on the side of the highway.