I remember when we met. We were 6 years old and climbing trees; we were 13 years old and discovering boys; we were 18 years old and starting university, we were 22 years old and falling in love for the first time: whenever, no matter, we were just kids then. We still are, but when we met your eyes were definitely sparkling; I know because that’s what I remember most about meeting you.And now, where are we? We’re older and further apart. Me here, you there, and her, somewhere else entirely. We’re strewn across this world without each other and Friend, it’s not easy without you. I look back on the photos of our last weekend together and I wish we could have had it in a way that wasn’t addled with all our fears and insecurities, our not knowing when we’d see each other again. We’re coming up on a year apart and still we don’t know when we’ll meet again.It breaks my heart to think of you struggling there, because I know sometimes you do. I know things get hard and you feel alone. I know this because this is how I feel. And I feel like everything would very easily, very simply become better in a moment, if you could sit across from me, sipping your coffee, and reach out your hand to hold mine as my voice reaches fever pitch. I know that in my panicked crescendo, that look you give me, the way you sit by me, the way you touch me, would bring me silence.