Sometimes it feels we've been drifting apart, these past few years. And it seems likely that we're going to just keep drifting apart even further, unless by chance and circumstance we happen to find ourselves living near each other again. And then, these ties will be briefly refreshed, and remembered anew, and things will seem bearable again.

But otherwise, this is what we'll be reduced to. This occasional catching up on each others' lives. With nothing really in common anymore, except the time that we once shared. And the knowledge...the belief...the hope...that if we could but meet often, it would all be the same again, or better, that we would be closer than ever before.

And we know the other will always be there, for times that simply require another. And we know the other will share, joyously or sorrowfully, whatever is so big that we have to share it. And we go our ways knowing that, knowing that we're there, out there, somewhere.

...but even though they may not really be lost, I still can't stop hating how much I miss my friends.