Moth

I sit there and sit there. I'm not sure why, but I sit there. She's gone, she left. She left me to fend for myself and I would be a fool to say that I'm not afraid.

I can't cry. It takes too much effort to cry.
I can't breathe. It's too hard.
I can't feel my heart. It's in there, probably in my stomach by now, but still there.

I begin to wonder if this was her plan. Find new friends, destroy current best friend, run away like a toddler. Yeah, that sounds about right – maybe I'm just out of my mind, though.

I'm angry – I tick in front of mom. I take off at my sister. I wonder if my anger's going to bury me someday. Sure, I'm not as angry as before, but I can feel the hate – of course, it's mixed with loneliness and self-pity, but I can still feel it.

No more giggles, no more laughs, no more hellos, not even a phone call. Not even from a stranger. I'm completely alone and I feel every memory and it causes a stomach ache.

She was my best friend and now she isn't.

I sit there.