We sat on your bed. It wilted under our weight.
Old and frail- stale to a fault, we always said.
Side by side. Knees touching knees. Hands
in packets of sweets from the corner shop.
How many can you fit in your mouth? I got
eight. You beat me every time.
We laugh until we ache. Funny pictures.
We jump in slow motion, I catch your eye and
we smile.  My best friend.

I sit in my bed. It's strong under my weight.
New and durable- Squeaky to a fault, I always say.
Cushion to a body. Covers suffocating hard. Hands
on a face, smudged with mascara from Asda.
I can fit four hours worth of crying into one if
I think hard enough. I beat my record every time.
I sob until I ache. Funny picture, that is.
I lay in slow motion, my phone rings in my ear and
I smile. My best friend.

The call isn't from you.