she is

She called me three days ago and before I heard the soft hello, I knew that something wasn't right. I felt it in the pit of my stomach as I sat in a pile of dirty laundry. I felt it coursing through my fingertips as I gripped the phone tighter in an effort to hear her whispers. But I didn't recognize the extent of the damage and I didn't understand the loneliness. Because you never want to admit that distance is a problem, you never want to own up to its confinement.
**

It’s terrifying to hear that depression is the culprit. Somehow, the words creep through the phone and into my bed – making itself comfortable and it's presence admissible. It is a tragedy to have to reconnect through gut-wrenching fears. Yet, there it is hanging in the air – the implications derived from isolation – and there's nothing left for us to do but to sit and listen to the other cry.

she is my best friend. she is all the memories and all the secrets. she is the tough times and all the times we laughed the hardest. she's the one sitting in the parking lot with me so I don't have to cry alone and she's beside me for every 5am conversation. she is the late night drives and every mixed CD I ever owned. she is my best friend.
**

Maybe this reads like a terrible Chicken Soup for the Soul but the reason I wrote it is because of a simple phone call that wasn't so simple. And the only reason I'm making it public is because whoever she is to you, I hope you never forget to call her and tell her how much she's loved.


Badley images by Petra Collins via