Us
Being the second person to come along is never easy. When someone has built their life around another person, chosen them to settle down with, promised to a room full of loved ones that they'll cherish till death do them part, it's hard to feel as special as they were. When you looked at that woman with so much love that you wanted her to carry your child, that you wanted to be bonded with her forever, to put your names on everything together, and to share a bed, house and second name - I feel a little lost. Because you knew me then. You knew me, and loved me, but it was different. I was little and I couldn't give you those things. I had a lot of growing up to do. I was a child to her, never an equal, never a friend. You may have thought I was wonderful, but she got to cuddle you at night. She got to pick the curtains with you, blow out the birthday candles with you, throw parties with you, attend the baby scans with you. She got to create the playlist that would enter your first beautiful boy into the world, and she got to dance with you on your wedding night.
When you love somebody so much, but you cannot be together, it's hard to watch someone have it all. I couldn't call you whenever, I couldn't spend all my time with you, I couldn't visit when I was sad. You always wanted kids. I always got scared that you wouldn't want me anymore, that you only liked spending time because you didn't have a child of your own yet. And I went from seeing you every week to every year. Your life moved on rapidly and so did mine. I grew taller, and smarter, and totally into myself. You flourished too. I remember you saying you felt sad when you heard I found my first serious boyfriend. At 18, I was mature enough to be romantic, sexual and independent - something I felt I'd been ready to do years before. I was busy, and happy. He turned out not to be a great guy, and he never liked you, but I continued growing and learning and missing my old best friend.
Each time I saw you, you had a new kid. You had a new business, a new adventure. I had a new degree, a new life plan, a one way ticket to the other side of the world. I cam to visit you before I flew away, and we stayed up until the sun rose over the hill, tasting your 25 year old whisky and putting the world to rights. She kept texting you the music was too loud, she could hear us up laughing, can you keep it down please, have you seen the time. I took off on my great adventure, and let my hair down. A little too much, until the wheels came off. I lost a friend in the most horrible way, far far too young, and I shattered into a thousand broken pieces. My mum wasn't there for me, my friends were in bits, and I had nowhere I wanted to go back to even though I desperately needed to come home.
I woke up, the same as most mornings on a mattress in a sleeping bag on the floor of my friends apartment, convulsing in the grips of another panic attack. I called you; with a time difference it will have been 3am in the morning, but you picked up. You hadn't spoken to me since that night, you had no idea how my life was spinning out of control. You told me to fly back home. You would collect me from the airport, you knew London. I said yes, and closed that chapter of my life for good. We spent time together; we were both in a rough state. You had lost a brother, I had lost a best friend. You felt isolated and drank too much; I felt empty and lived on little blue pills. We drifted together, like we always do, and comforted in having such an old friend to share the burden with, to get totally lost in.