Five Years Ago

Five years ago,

we collapsed onto the couch,

seized the last of the Sour Patch Kids,

savored the sourness prickling in our mouths,

and laughed together for hours.

Now,

you wear so much makeup that

I can’t see the smile on your face,

you put on a mask so you can

hide your spirit and liveliness.

Five years ago,

we bought the BFF necklace,

debated on who should have what half,

and pinky-swore that

we would never take it off.

Now,

your necklace is in the trash,

turned into nothing but ash and dust,

while I still wear mine

secretly under my coat.

Five years ago,

we were always together,

two peas in a pod,

telling each other who we like,

exposing our secrets to one another.

Now,

you don’t even wave,

like I’m just an illusion,

and I’m being swallowed

by an abyss of

darkness.