I wish I hadn’t remembered this.

“Leah?” Your voice is quiet, barely a whisper as you sit in the seat next to me. I turn my gaze towards you and offer a hesitant smile, attempting to assure you of my well-being. Your hand touches mine gently, a warmth radiating through my fingers at the small gesture.

“I am fine,” I inform you, my voice stronger than I expect it to sound as I speak. “Just lost in thought, I guess.” You shake your head and draw back your hand as you pull away from me, your body pushing against the leather seats of the car as you do so. The space next to my hand suddenly feels empty, as if an important part of me is suddenly missing.

“I don’t remember you being like this,” you mutter, my childhood friend suddenly displeased with my current actions.

“I don’t remember you being like this.”

I find myself suddenly flung into a memory so vivid that it feels real.

I looked up to you, the world spinning as I took your image. In my drunken haze you were nothing less than an angel come to save the day in the shape of my best friend, the one person I could knew I could count on.

“Never drinking again,” I informed you, my words coming out unintelligibly.

“That’s what you’ve said the last 8 times I was your DD, you drunk,” you joked, the familiar playful tone evident in your words even despite my cloudy mind.

“I love you,” I exclaimed, my hand reaching over to hold yours, desperate for some sort of physical affection. As I grabbed your hand I smiled at the sudden warmth, grateful to have you in my life. I barely even noticed the tree I had pulled us into by pulling away your hand.

Suddenly I am alone in the car, the driver’s seat empty as it sits idly in the driveway.

I wish I hadn’t remembered this.