Fictional Bonds

I could have nothing in common with someone I once shared everything with. It happens slowly like water forgetting the shape of the vessel it lived in.

But what now, of this friendship?

No obligations hold me, simply because once, we called each other “friend”. There is no sanity check for friendship. No certificate. No family tree.

In blood, you’re tied by accident, something decided before you had a say. Even if you never speak again, somewhere in the quiet crevice of your mind, you know: they are yours by birthright. A name that stays even in silence.

But a friendship? Friendship floats. Dangerously. Weightlessly.

It exists only if we keep saying it does. You call me friend, I call you the same and that’s all it takes. And all it takes to lose it is to stop.

So here we are. You’ve changed. Or I have. Or maybe we both did, but it was your silence that made the change real.

Now what?

Sometimes I swing a call. Just to check in. But only after fighting off a galaxy of thoughts that maybe you’ve already let go. Maybe I’m the only one still dialing.

When the phone rings, I imagine you hesitating. I imagine you seeing my name and thinking: “Oh.”

I don’t know what that means. But I’ve decided it’s pity. It’s easier that way.

Sometimes I want to ask if you miss me. But I don’t. Because what if you say no? Or worse, what if you say yes, but your voice sounds like goodbye?

I still have your number. But I think the person it belongs to has moved.

Water doesn’t remember the vessel. Maybe I never will either. Maybe I already have.