If I was still your friend, I would be so proud of you right this second.

If I was still your friend, you would not quite understand why, but accept it quietly, like you did everything else about me.

If I was still your friend, I would greet you every morning, smile, stick out an arm and wrap it around your shoulders.

If I was still your friend, you would smile back and tell me about your day.

If I was still your friend, I would eat lunch with you every afternoon and thank the stars you're here.

If I was still your friend, you would sit close next to me, our bodies almost touching, and make me laugh at your simple jokes.

If I was still your friend, I would send you a message every afternoon about anything at all.

If I was still your friend, you would write me back and carry on the conversation until we both fell asleep with memories of it on our minds.

If I was still your friend, I wouldn't dream about you as often as I do now.

If I was still your friend, you would dream about me much more often than you do now.

But I'm not.

And all I can do is pretend to hate you while you still laugh and still smile and still eat lunch and still send messages and still dream, yes, but with everyone except me.