Spare

You and I lie on the grass, surrounded by your new friends. I am a visitor, an outsider in your family. You talk, tell jokes I don't know. I hollowly laugh, pretending to belong, to understand, to be accepted. I am not despised or ignored, but I am not wanted. I am like a snowstorm in July: an unpleasant memory of what once was.

-I loved You. I love you. I loved You. Like games played with daisy petals, I flounder between past and present tense, loving You then and loving you know.

But you have changed. I cling onto what once was, how you are, were, and could be. What we could be.

I miss You, best friend. And even though I wish, yearn, we could be more, I would be happy for anything. A smile. A hello. A hug, a kiss. To know You're still alive in this new person you have become.

But as summer snow melts soon after falling, we are gone. There is no us anymore, just you. It's always been about you, after all.