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By Shriya MKumar

“We won't be friends in two years”

was that fear or finality in your words

maybe the ending was written by us

but deep down, it still hurts

my mom asked me how you were

while we refolded blankets in two

i hate that i didn't know what to say

So tell me, “how are you?”

you knew how much i hated milk

and talking to people before ten

everyone except you, of course

but a lot has changed since then

you knew my irrational fear of dragonflies (at least that's stayed the same)

i never knew which scared me more

winged creatures or the thought of losing you

but that i have the answer for.

you were the first piece in the puzzle

my life fit its way around you,

but now that picture is complete

and i still can't see what it means

we were going to be neighbors.

in a foreign city, a busy street

you were always written in my chapters

but i don't know if i'm part of your story

we were writing letters to the future

erasing the past, but that's all that's left

hour-long phone calls, to unsent texts

what did I even expect?

a 20 minute drive, a phone call away

maybe it was my mistake, i hate to admit

but i thought we had all the time in the world

it wasnt nearly enough, was it?

we never ran out of things to say,

stories to share, memories to make

its 2am, and i can't help but wonder

if we always had this expiration date.

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