Good luck, she wrote.
She was always there, in the back of my mind, in front of my eyes, near my work and close to my heart. She was with me, wherever I was. Thinking of her when I was away, when I felt great and when I felt down.
She was a warrior on the outside, always trying to build up her self confidence by running and aiming to a flat belly. I loved her flat belly and for an obvious reason, she even convinced me to go running with her.
She was a poet in her heart. Her mind was filled with imagination, sometimes weird even to her. She wrote, she created, she rhymed, she inspired. I still remember her quirky laugh, how she put her tongue on her lips.
She was the reason for my short happiness after a long time of loneliness and felling lost in the world. She was the reason I sang, laughed and cried at the same time. She was my reason for being.
She was once the happiest person I’ve ever seen. We were having pancakes and drinks with another girlfriend of hers and all of the sudden she couldn’t stop saying “I’m so happy, I’m so happy”. I loved that moment. And I fell in love with her in that moment.
She is married now. She invited me to her wedding, but I couldn't go. I was struggling so hard with accepting her gone in a way, that I didn't even realized I was pushing her away with my attitude. We were friends, but friendship wasn’t something that I could handle. I kept more and more distance. So did she. Attending her wedding would be too painful.
We grew apart in relationship and in physical distance. Relationship grew colder and texts just a placeholder. Her last text, before we stopped communicating, was: “Good luck.”
This is day number 36 of my 100 Days of Writing Challenge.
