Letter to the Friend

Dear Y,

I can still taste that vanilla whiskey

I We used to drink back in our hometown.

My mind seems to be programmed

to wish find it in every drink

even if it’s just vodka-sprite.

I can still remember you how you draw that small sketch

for that blonde girl with porcelain-like doll face

and how I were wished my hair was lighter.

I have the photo of us in my wallet with ripped edges.

Your hand here on my arm, my eyes fixed on your

wide, white smile showing all your teeth accompanied by full pink lips.

Your empty room may slowly turn me into a psycho but

It’s messing with my mind.

Even you making a tea seems to be so boring

Although your theories about sugar are and sweetener

were making me scream inside.

But now you are there elsewhere laughing at someone else’s jokes

And cooking skills probably.

I feels so unlucky and not having seen new, truly great things

you must have achieved there

after you rearranged your life, which doesn’t was kind of drastic.

And I’m glad she’s making your days

bright, exciting and your heart know screams for more.

But insects in my stomach still wish I was blonde.

Every day I just think how that I’d love to spend some time

with lucky my friend who is so busy all the time.

Everything changed so fast and memories

are not enough when you stare at blank pages

of it the diary we’ve made together knowing

that nothing is else will be written in it.

I hope everything is alright,

I just miss you

My dear

Friend.