Friends? I remember those. Or at least one. I was very close to him. If it had ever come to it I would have died for him. We were close. Closer than any two beings had any right to. I was asked many times if I loved him. I wish I knew what I do now, back then. I would have answered yes in a flash. Back then I was just confused about how I should proceed when I was asked about it. I was too afraid to ask him about it and what would happen if I had admitted it not only to myself but to him. He died in an accident that I couldn't do anything about. We were nowhere near each other.
I wasn't told what happened for days. Almost a week. I was furious. I was the closest to him and was one of the last to know. During his funeral it was overcast. There was lightning and thunder but no rain. Like the sky was just as angry as me. But when he was sent out and his pier was lit I had no choice but to cry. I couldn't stop it. All throughout, people gave me pitying looks and told me they were sorry. I didn't want to hear that. I wanted to hear that this was some sort of very elaborate joke.
Quickly days and weeks passed and eventually I hated every inch of that place. I ran far, far away and hid out. I made sure no one would find me. I plan to live out my days alone, with a stone in my stomach for never being able to admit my love for him.