At around 2am, we were still talking. We’d spent something like the last 32 hours in each others company, and we still had things to say. I pointed this out (and she started talking about her fringe. Showing why we talk so much – we talk about pointless things) and I guess we both thought about it for a while.

I told her about my hang-up about people visiting my house – the invaded privacy, the cold dread at the thought of them mixing with my family (I love my friends and I love my family and I have no idea why I hated the idea of them talking), the terror that they’ll ransack my room and read my diary and (even worse) the notebooks filled with stories. I don’t know why it doesn’t bother me when she stops, maybe I’ve grown up or maybe it’s just that she couldn’t find anything that’d surprise her. But I’ve stopped hiding my writing when she comes over, and I hope she realised that was big.

The next day it snowed. We woke up in a winter wonderland, the countryside surrounding her middle-of-nowhere-home a shining white. The views as I travelled home where so beautiful, and for a while as the bus took me past untouched snowy fields, I understood why they live there.

Further on my journey home, I got thinking about laura. Laura was my best friend, back in the days when having a ‘best friend’ was still important. We discovered many new joys together – running up huge phone bills, sneaking into the city to go shopping when our town just wasn’t enough, mobile phones and hot chocolates in town on cold winter nights…we had a lot of fun together. We always had an incredibly tempestuous relationship. When we were friends we were absolutely best friends, inseparable and for always. When we fell out it was huge and dramatic, and screamed so that the whole school knew. When we made up it was tearful and emotional.

Eventually, maybe because we wanted easier friendships, or maybe because we simply met other people we were more compatible with, we grew apart. It was gradual at first, and it took a long time, but I can still remember the moment I knew it was going to happen. We were on the telephone, and we’d been talking maybe ten minutes…and there was a silence. Nothing. I had to search for a topic of conversation, and I presume she was doing so to, and then we spoke at the same time. And I knew. The words had run out. We had spent all this time together, laughing and singing, shopping, eating, and talking. Always talking. Now, the words were starting to run out, and I knew it was only a matter of time.

It scared me, remembering that.

< - >

* the marks of memories forgotten
* wasting emotions, over again
* intentions, and such
* nothing unusual, nothing's changed - just a little older, that's all (damien rice : amie)
* now I understand! It doesn't make sense because it isn't supposed to