Confession 2: “I Hurt A Friend”

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Hi, Diwa.
Hope you’re fine.
I’m *******, and there’s a confession I need to make. It was all my fault, I am repenting so much, but I hope others can learn from my story. Thanks for hearing me out.
So there’s this friend of mine, let’s call her SB. She is a good friend, but she’s immature and stupid, and there are a few things I don’t really appreciate about her. Due to some reasons, I can’t cut ties with her.
I don’t really point out someone’s flaws until they’re a close friend, that’s why, (I hate to admit, but the truth surely bites) I used to talk about her behind her back. I know, I mean, everyone does that, but today I realized how wrong I was to do this. I had b***hed about her on chat with a friend, and today I left my phone with her for a moment. She read my messages. She read all the chats. And then came along the usual drama, which I hated. I deeply felt hurt. I regretted, but now things are sorta complicated. I usually stay on the good side, which is why I feel so bad about my actions. She’s really mad. I don’t think it will go away until a very long time. I don’t want to lose her.
I don’t know why my confession is this incident. I have a lot of problems, but my confession is this. For some reason. I think I really bonded with SB. You’re free to reject this. I just needed you to hear me out. Thanks for reading my childish and silly story :).
©Name Witheld

“Poetry With You”

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Penning down poetry with you,
That’s something I really miss.
The way we just jotted down,
The many things we talked about.

Writing anything for each other,
From love to poverty to politics;
Then, back again, to love.
The spontaneity and harmony,
With which we created write-ups.

Painting pictures with words–
Be it flowery, simple, fancy, or dark.
The fact that I knew you’d get it,
Anything I chose to use or say.

I loved that we had
The same train of thought–
I could use figures of speech,
And I knew, you’d see through it.
Most times, you did.

Sometimes, you didn’t get my meaning,
And I loved those moments, too.
Those were the times, you’d ask–
Ask away, you did, and I’d laugh.

I used to goad you into discovering,
What I meant–what I wanted to mean–
A word, a line, a stanza.
Sometimes, I had to explain
The whole thing.

But then, you’d make poetry, too.
Each day was full of poems for me.
Why did that even stop, anyway?
Why did we allow it to end?

What I really want, to say, is this:
I miss you and yes, I remember you.
I recall the endless discussions–
The steady flow of input-output
Between you and me.

Although, words are superfluous.
Nothing can, ever, fully enunciate
What was really lost,
The day I lost your love.

Because, I lost more than love.
I also lost my friend–
The dear friend I had, in you.