Looking through pictures of what used to be. Two faces trapped in a frame. The smile so real you could hear them laughing. It’s the pictures that used to make me smile of the memory and tease you of your silliness. You would do your best to keep a true smile on my face after coming home with frustration and stress. A hug was intangible, but your time to talk to me each day sufficed. “What happened?” is not the question that runs along my mind, but the confusion between my belief of being to naive and lost of where the efforts went.
And now, I grief over the fact I lost what I thought was a best friend while I observe the lost-memory smile of mine that is next to yours, but my metaphorically-speaking walls mirroring the picture of what used to be.
