Wishing on Bubbles

I wish I could have my friends back.

It’s only happened three times, but for me it’s three times too many times. They were all dear to me, like brothers. And they all disappeared from my life without any kind of explanation.

I wish I could ask them why: what did I do wrong? When did this happen? Why was I the last to know that we were no longer friends? Well, I suppose I wouldn’t ask the last one.

I see them sometimes, and it baffles me how I used to know them so well a lifetime ago. Well, one of them is in Germany, so I don’t see him at all except when his posts come onto my Facebook newsfeed. Which counts, I suppose. But it’s sad too, in a way – Facebook friends, but not friends, really.

I still consider them to be my dear friends though. I’m not the kind of person who can forget what people mean to her easily. The memories will always stay with me: all the times we hung out, cried on each others shoulders, laughed together, helped each other….

But I suppose it’ll always be this way. After all, our lives have changed. I suppose we don’t know how to be friends anymore.

I don’t know why I do this to myself, but I always wish on bubbles. And they always pop in my face.

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