We walked in light once, when the world still listened.
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Our laughter rose like ash from a spark newly christened.
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You said friendship was not built but found in the ruins.
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I thought you meant love, but now I know it blooms in the tunes.
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There were days when silence was holy between us.
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When words would have ruined what truth tried to discuss.
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To be understood is the rarest gift a man can be given.
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Most hearts speak in echoes, few are truly driven.
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We stood beneath the shadow of time’s indifferent eye.
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Beneath its watch, our wounds learned how to dry.
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Betrayal came not like a storm, but a subtle forgetting.
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The kind that makes faith seem too heavy for regretting.
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Still, there is beauty in what remains unspoken.
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In the spaces where old promises lie half-broken.
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I remember the night your silence turned to stone.
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You walked away gently, yet I felt utterly alone.
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Friendship, I’ve learned, is less about staying.
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It’s about returning, when the leaving’s done praying.
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Some souls are moons, caught in another’s orbit for a time.
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Guided not by want, but by a gravity divine.
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And now when I see you in dreams, your face is kind.
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No blame survives the mercy we find.
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True friendship is not two paths side by side—it’s one road shared.
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Worn and cracked, yet somehow perfectly prepared.
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For the next traveler who knows loss, or longing, or why.
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We meet them with open hands, and never ask why.
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So here’s to the ones who stayed, and those who could not.
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For all are part of the fire that friendship begot.
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The ember still burns, quiet but strong.
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And maybe, after all, it was love all along.

…

DCG