My Friend

There was a time when the world had softer edges, when the forest paths still held our laughter, and secrets weren’t something to be weaponised but woven into spells of sisterhood.

You were moonlight and wildflowers, boots on wet earth, sage smoke and cider and whispered truths. We didn’t hide from each other. We didn’t know how.

You saw me —not the cleaned-up version but the girl with her Guinness in shaking hands, trying to find herself in music and potions.

And I saw you too — bold and messy and brilliant, with a shadow you pretended not to know and a hunger you never tried to tame.

We danced with gods we didn’t understand. We trusted people who didn’t deserve us. We played at power — and got burned.

I didn’t know that you’d sacrifice me for him. I didn’t know that love could taste like poison when passed through someone else’s hands.

You hurt me. You betrayed what was sacred. And still — I remember you as mine. The one who knew me before. Before anyone called me broken. Before my light became suspicious. Before my voice was something I had to reclaim.

If we never speak again, I want you to know: I loved you. I still do. I miss you and I always will. You are the fire I once stood beside to warm my soul. And I forgive you — as I hope you can forgive me.