AncientSubmitted by DaBeast at 2014-07-01 22:41:33 EDT
Rating: 2.0 on 8 ratings (8 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
My best friend left today. She could not stand it here any longer. Too many bad things had happened to her, to her sons, to her life in this place and she had grown to loathe it. I was one of the few reasons she had stuck it out this long and that makes the guilt well up inside me and it chokes me.
She was the left brain; I, the right. Sometimes, we finished one another's sentences. For those things that left her shaking her head and wondering, "Why?", I offered insight and she did the same for me when I came to those situations that I could not fathom or comprehend.
We laughed a lot. Sometimes, we cried. She was as different from myself as it was possible to be. She, a tall blonde goddess and me, a short red headed freak of nature. I was creativity, she was logic until we switched places and we would do this whenever it was required.
And now, I am old and she has gone to forge her life thousands of miles away and I know how this ends. We'll talk every day, at first. Then, a few times a week, once every couple of weeks, and then maybe, once a month. The pauses will get longer as reality and the minutia of everyday life fill the empty spaces until she vanishes past the horizon, never to return.
I know I'll never see her again and that knowing sits like a rock inside my stomach, heavy and painful.
She was better than I. She was hope where I am a cynic, she was driven and ambitious when I am bitter and sarcastic, and she burns with a light that can not be extinguished while I sit wrapped in darkness and shadow. She can still turn the other cheek where I am filled with vengence and rage even though she has just as much cause, if not more so, to embrace those same vile emotions and urges.
And now she has gone and the light with her.
I wish that I had... I wish many things that I could not bring to fruition.
I only know that I miss her and I am heartbroken and I am too old to ever have another friend like her. It took me almost forty years to find her! I don't think I have another forty in me to find another.
She is rarer than diamonds and finer than pearls and I hurt and I ache and if I had tried to stop her, to dissuade her, then I would not have been able to call myself her friend and remain truthful. She was miserable here. It was only right that she should choose to find something better somewhere else.
So, I let her go. I had no choice.
I stayed behind; again, choiceless.
So, I'll crack open the bottle and try to imagine that the false warmth of the liquor in my gullet can substitute for the warmth of her presence.
And when the bottle's gone...?
I don't know.
I only know it hurts and soon, she will be beyond my horizon and I can not stop the grief gnawing at my innards.