I woke up this morning. I ran to your room to see if you stayed. You weren't in there. I started sobbing as I ran out to the kitchen, hopeful that I'd find you there. I ran out there. Nobody was there. I started crying even harder, picking up Wyatt and cuddling with him on the couch as I cried myself to sleep. When I woke up, I was being shaken by someone. I opened my eyes wearily to see your face staring back at me. I jumped up into your arms, happiness flooding my veins as I smiled and cried tears of joy and relief. You almost fell over, but instead you picked me up and sat down, setting me in your lap and holding me close. I couldn't stop apologizing to you, and you the same to me.

We started talking about how much we wanted to fix our friendship. We started talking about solutions, things to help us. I suggested therapy, though you didn't seem very inclined to that idea. But we were getting somewhere. We were communicating, and we were happy, or as happy as we could be. We started therapy a couple weeks later. Though you weren't a fan of the idea, you seemed to understand that it was our best shot. So, you agreed.

We went on Thursdays together, and Mondays on our own, though we were in the same building, as we had somehow gotten appointments at almost the same time. We had been getting so much better, it was like out story was finally starting to calm down. Of course, that was only us being in the eye of the hurricane. It was a couple months after we started therapy. We'd had one too many drinks, and I guess we were both feeling confident. You started to lean in, and I didn't stop you. That's all it was, yet it sent our worlds crashing down again. Because for the first time in a long time, we'd been perfectly happy just as friends, and we ruined it in a matter of seconds.

We both panicked, and I tried to talk to you, but you just an to your room and locked the door behind you, leaving me in the living room, glass still in my hand, crying on our living room floor. We'd taken our house of gold and reduced it to ash, all because of a stupid decision. When we went to therapy the next week, I had to tell the therapist when you'd gone to the bathroom, since you were so set on keeping it a secret. But let's be honest, we both knew I'd spill the first time you left. I told her everything about that night, and she told me not to worry, that she knew it'd be coming, that she knew how to fix it. But I think she was just tying to get me to stop crying, seeing as how she left a week after that, leaving us broken and desperate, hoping that by some miracle that maybe, just maybe, she'd come back and finish our therapy. But she didn't, so we found someone else, but they didn't help.

We tried and tried, but every time, something went wrong, and all of a sudden, we'd be searching again, trying desperately to repair our shattered relationship. We'd only sit in silence in the car, not even bothering to turn on the radio. Then finally, a miracle happened, and you found a therapist that had major success. We went to see him, and after working with him for months and months, we were finally getting a lot better. We were almost back to normal, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, we'd be okay. Sure, we'd bicker, and have the occasional argument, but it'd be nothing major. We were finally happy, until we weren't. Except this time we didn't mess up.

You got the call around 3 in the morning, your mom frantically talking, not stopping to take breaths, as she tried to stop crying as you tried to not start as you listened. You had said you didn't want to burden me any other time you were going through something, so I watched you struggle. But this time you said you needed me to stay. He died the next evening. We'd been sitting on our couch, watching SpongeBob, when your mom's name came onto your phone screen. You picked it up about a millisecond later, and I heard your mom crying on the other side. As soon as you hung up, you threw your arms around me, and I let you cry into my shoulder.

His funeral was the next week. We both flew down to go to it, and we were never out of each other's reach that day, both crying and silently hoping that this was another one of his jokes, but both knowing that wasn't the case. You were supposed to speak there, but you could only get more than a few words out, so I had to speak for you, reading your eulogy off of the tear-stained paper. I don't remember a word, and I don't think you do either, but that didn't matter at the time. We went out to stand in the trees after, where we used to go to hang out by ourselves, and we cried together. After who knows how long, we finally had gotten ourselves together, and all of us went to your house. My parents with your mom, and you with me. We fell asleep together that night, and when I woke up the next morning, you were gone.

I remember waking everyone up to look for you, and all of us panicking together when we couldn't find you anywhere, and even more when your phone went straight to voicemail. We all split up to look for you, and the first place I went was our little spot. I was so ready to find you standing there, waiting for me to find you and running into my arms like in the movies and books.

But this wasn't a movie, nor was it a book.

You weren't waiting for me to find you at our little spot. When I walked into the clearing, you weren't standing there, looking at me with a smile. You were standing there, about to jump into the rushing water below us. I called your name, and you didn't turn around and run towards me. You turned around and looked at me, and I could see in your eyes that you wanted to jump. But instead, I stepped closer, grabbing your wrist gently, before pulling you away from the edge. And that's when I woke up, crying, and looked into your room, only to find an empty bed.