My therapist once told me that it was healthy to mourn the loss of a friendship as if it was a death. It's hard at first, as it should be, but "as time passes, it should heal the wound."

So for the past year, I have been spilling my heart out and crying over your "death". I've been scribbling your name on scratches of paper and setting fire to them. What my therapist never told me, was how long it would take for the wound you left, to close.

Because it has been a year, and I have acted as if you were nothing but a memory, because in reality, that's exactly what you are to me. But you are not dead. No. You have a beating heart and a life to live, and I know at any point, if you wanted to, you could come back to me.

I guess it's true that I always cared about you more. You wouldn't admit it, but you never had to. You don't live with me in my everyday life, but you're always with me in my dreams. And I've acted as if you were a ghost, but you will not stop haunting me.

I'm waiting for a "hello" that I know will never come, but that won't stop me from waiting anyways.

I'm waiting for your resurrection.