The Color of Friendship

Really?

I thought you were my friend.

My confidante, my closest companion.

You threw it all away, like an empty lipstick tube, once bursting with light pink.

The color of our friendship.

Not unlike the lipstick, you picked me up, took one last look, and tossed me in the trash.

Now, I see you with the clique of girls and boys we once envied, wearing the color of their friendship:

Light red.

A damask, sultry color.

Lips, as red as a dusty rose, speak harsh words now.

Piercing green eyes bore through my own dark blue ones.

But in those probing eyes, I see our friendship and the way they treat you.

They treat you like nothing.

Garbage.

Sounds familiar, does it not?

But I.

I can see your past.

Our little brawls that were never really fights, just small disagreements.

The hugs and kisses that were shared through thick and thin.

Tears.

Tears shed for each other.

For the pains, the losses, the supposed everlasting camaraderie.

It is surprising and a bit funny, really.

How one of the most beautiful things in the world, friendship, is best epitomized by tears.

Our emotions are raw when we are bawling; we are the most vulnerable.

We show the best passion when crying, and we cried a lot.

So I guess we have shown a whole lot of feeling in our little bond, have we not?

We wept happiness.