Erin

She was my friend.
And while I would miss her
Were she to leave, 

I know I already do.

There would be no change change 

From any emotion I already suffer 

On her behalf. 

I wish her the best,
With no hard feelings, 

But I'll not let her back in
To hurt me again. 

I learned that lesson the hard way 

Far too many times. 

She's not dead to me, 

But our friendship finally is. 

Still we miss the dead for some time 

After they have been buried. 

The end of a friendship is no different. 

Maybe I've buried it,
But I doubt I'll ever not miss it 

When so fondly recalled. 

After all, what is a friendship 

If not the delivery of a new life 

Onto our paths to delight our senses -
No matter how brief or sustained? 

And what is death 

If not those who remain among the living 

Spending their time grieving the loss 

Of that delightful, sparkling joy
Brought all too briefly 

Into our lives? 

She was the miracle I needed, 

Delivered at the right time,
And ripped away 

When I had grown almost accustomed 

To having her there. 

She will remain that miracle, 

If in memory alone. 

But her friendship is 

Yet another casualty of my life. 

All attempts made to the contrary 

Have failed.

My friend is gone,

Just as though 

The shroud of death 

Had taken her away.