You know who you are

It bothers me. Bright sunshine outside creeping its way up from behind the tiny gaps in your curtains. The smell of tea, the sound of shuffling feet on the wooden floors, the swish of cloth and the freshly baked banana bread. It was always banana.

You're asleep, I don't want to wake you. I make small talk with your mom, run my finger over the dusty picture frames whisking through the past in a few minutes. Tiny faces smiling back at me.

I look around your room, feeling at home. It is not clean. It is untidy with clothes covering every surface, make up heaped in a pile on your dressing table, one half of your pair of red high heels lying on the floor - the other; nowhere to be found. Then there are the books and your precious book shelf, the laptop humming quietly.

I shove a pile of clothes away from a comfortable spot on your beige couch. I pick up some fashion magazines lying on the floor and flip through them; waiting for you to wake up. You jolt up from the bed just like you always do. It cracks me up.

"How long have you been here?" you ask looking around for your glasses and gathering your pile of bushy hair on top of your head.
"Only just arrived" I lie.

A day of sorrow. Brought together by pain yet moving far apart. It continues today.

We were not many things. Best friends, confidants, companions, late night phone call.
We were many things. A sanctuary, a wonderland, a comfort, outcasts, real, familiarity, similar story.

Now, we are nothing. It bothers me.