the kitchen door is unlocked

the death of a friendship is a complex grief Waking up to messages but none from them is an odd feeling at first. Photos on the wall look ghostly now, the person in them no longer truly exists to you although everyone always swears they aren't the one who changed. The blame game is relentless, a violent swing between anger toward them and doubt towards the lovability of yourself. You will stare at the calendar on the day of their birthday wondering how this new age will treat them and who will buy the cake and maybe your eyes will prick occasionally when your brain conjures a thought which would only have been shared with them. But as all things eventually do one day it will pass and the bitterness will turn into peace, the anger will subside, and you will smile warmly at the friend sitting across from you forever grateful for who God chose for you instead. You wonder who the other one has become now, and maybe you think about who you have become since. And if all goes well you will sit with your friends on a summer evening and drink tea in the kitchen, with peace in your heart and maybe the backdoor unlocked, should anyone wish to join us.