There's a little box tucked away beneath my bedside. It's cheap and made of plastic, meant for art supplies in a school.

It meant the world to me.

Over the years I've collected useless little items and stored them away in that box; it's full of simple trinkets that could be found in a thrift shop or a dollar store alike.

They meant the world to me.

There's a little stack of papers held together by an old, tan rubber band. They're letters, filled with words in graphite spelled with uncoordinated hands. Short sentences, poor vocabulary, but wholly genuine to its writer's intentions. From birthdays to friendship cards, to drawings done in crayon, they all mean the same thing— I was thinking of you.

There are little toys; cheap, worthless things of all sorts of colors. Animal erasers from book fairs that don't work awfully well, tiny figurines obtained in Happy Meals that still smell of ketchup, and sticky hands covered in lint from well-worn use; some may hold specific memories, but they all have the same feeling— I used to love these things.

There are no photos, no pictures to remind me of their faces. Only blurry memories of their past selves frozen in my mind along with the written letters of their names. Thinking about these too reminds me of the same thing— I miss you.


The worst part is when I have nothing to show for our time. Items lost in travels and moving alike, leaving nothing but my own mind as proof they were alive. Somehow it makes those memories all the fonder, because if I lose those too, it's as if they never existed at all. I can't do that; I can't forget them because they were my childhood.

Friendship holds a different value when it has been threatened before. Rosy demeanors and first impressions dull with comparison and critical judgment. A friend is not just someone you spend time with, share interests together, nor enjoy their company. That is only a friendly acquaintance, merely shallow waters that wash comfortably over an undisturbed bay. Someone becomes a friend when you find yourself drowning in those rougher waves and they decide to foolishly hold on to help despite their own struggles; it's knowing your differences but accepting them all the same, and sharing your hearts despite the fear so the relationship can grow as the tides do in the evening. Someday, the waves will recede and friendships will end, but eventually new ones will return to keep the cycle going.

I hope you're both doing well, wherever you may be. I hope you're still staying afloat and finding others to hold onto in this sea of uncertainty. After all, friendships are best built when both parties put in the effort; with it you won't have to fight to keep your head above the waters, but rather, sail and thrive through the storms in the boat you've made together.