Lost Friends

The elasticity of us
Was unparalleled, we thought.
Holding a bond, strong
Enough to endure the detailed illustrations of
This life.
But the distance
Between us
Serrated our synthetic amity and it bleeds me
Dry, like...
Like...

Like how we came to pretend
Coffee and a hug
Every now and then
Kind of, sort of makes
Us
Into friends

But who, in your world, could I play
In a reoccurring role?
Syringing my faux feelings to make your heart beat or risk
Myself,
My true nature exposed

Who could I
Really
Be...
In relation to your Stimpy?
Put plain,
Are we not broken,
Pleasantries feigned?
Ultimately, ending as ends, estranged,
In a relationship of convenience
A Ren only temporarily, simply.
Yet, we’ve come to pretend
That a phone call every three months
Kind of, sort of
Makes "us"
Into "friends"

And there has been
Far too many to count,
But they know
Who they are.
Ghosts from my past.
Lost friends, 
All could be
Blamed for life moving too
Fast

For the taste of realism,
Bitter yet distinct, leaves
Nostalgia of our old habits to ferment,
Fester, stink.
I swear,
We knew each other.
The long chill of once familiarity
Sweeps through like old memories
Of an empty house.
It seems that so many are lost
In the shuffle
Of one’s own doubt

But, here we are,
Spaced by infinity.
Connected by adventure, tedium,
Horrors, to make us cringe.
Childhood secrets left in the chrysalis of adolescence
Forgotten as women and men.
Somehow does that kind of,
Sort of,
Make us,
Into friends?