Esha Mishra

old friends

By Esha Mishra

Old friendships are sacred. I see you and you see me from across the room and suddenly we are fourteen again only we are not. We have jobs and lovers and new friends and families; I no longer seek your face in crowded hallways and you don’t wait for me at lunch. But today, we are here, and we’ve talked but we haven’t really spoken in months. I look at you and I see your tears when we were fifteen, your photography when you were sixteen. You look at me and you see my half-written English papers, my meltdown on the bathroom floor. I know you and you know me. The collage you made me still hangs in my room and I’m on your dorm wall. After the years, the expectations vanish. I tell you about my anxiety, my fears. You tell me about yours. We buy each other coffee and hug. We’re both trying our best. We drive in silence. Sometimes nothing needs to be said. I realize that friendship is inherently romantic in the same way lasting love is: I have chosen you for years and I will continue to choose you for years, because of who you are to me and who I am to you.