Five years. That's how long we had each other's backs, how long we laughed over the stupidest things, how long we swore we'd be different-that no matter what, we wouldn't end up like those friendships that crumble over nonsense. But here we are. Five years, undone by something so ridiculous I still can't believe it. I keep replaying it in my head, searching for the moment where everything cracked, trying to pinpoint the exact second we stopped being us. Maybe it doesn't even matter anymore. And the strangest part is... some of it is gone. Just... missing. Like my mind decided certain memories weren't worth keeping, like it knew holding onto them would only make it worse. My psychologist says it's normal... just my brain protecting itself. Still, it's unsettling, knowing that there are gaps where whole pieces of us used to be. But not everything disappeared. Some things linger. The weight of your presence, even in your absence. The echoes of laughter in moments that should be silent. The way certain places feel heavier now, like they're grieving too. So, thank you. For the memories, both the ones I still have and the ones that slipped through my fingers. For proving that even the people who once felt like home can leave behind ruins instead. And for the scars-because even if I don't remember everything, I'll always remember how it felt.