in comments and pokes,
in hugs and visits,
but not by their words.
They echo in my mind,
past the three-hundred miles,
that seperate our ears.
It's been so long since our last hug,
and it's been eating away at me,
at the memories we've shared.
I can't help but blame you,
for you haven't tried like I have.
You said you'd do anything for me,
for our friendship.
You said you'd fly a red-eye,
three hours just to see me if I was hurt.
I can't feel it,
can't sense its truth,
unless you come,
There's fifty years left to our friendship,
so you said.
I don't want to waste those fifty years,
I miss you.
I have this friend of mine, my best friend, who has told me how much he treasures our friendship, and how he knows we'll be friends 50 years from now. We live far apart from each other and barely see each other once a year. I'll hopefully be seeing him at the end of next month, but it's not guaranteed. I also hope to see him for my birthday, but again, the distance prevents him from being able to come all the way to see me. He says he misses me and that he's trying to free up time for me, but out of frustration of this situation came this poem. It's a bit cryptic, but it's how I feel. I love my friend, and I always will, but right now I'm almost hating him for being so far away.
I measure my friendships,