You think of them suddenly, sometimes, as they were, as you were together. You go over those scenes from long ago, remembering with sudden clarity those little things that made up your life with them in it.

You wonder where they are now, and whether you'd know them today. You wonder if they think of you, and how they do, if they do. You wonder if it is only you that continues to remember, and whether you even should; and are unsure if this is maudlin, creepy, or just simply pathetic.

You can't imagine how you ever just let things drift, and are befuddled when you cannot think of a way to reach them again. And you wonder if you ever knew them, for you realise you do not know where they lived and what they preferentially wore and who they did not like.

And you live with the memories, that slowly seep away, till each time you have to try harder to remember, and each time you wonder how much else you've forgotten.

And you so lose them, and you will keep doing so, and you do not understand any of it, save that this is not how it should be. And so you mourn, for they are gone, and strangers bear their name and faces.

These are the friends you lost.