Best Friends

I came home from new Zealand in the summer.  Nobody was there to greet me.  When my sister came home she had five friends, with their hands pressed up against the glass.  They were jumping up and down waiting for her.  Nobody was there for me.  It was alight though, I was home.  I wasn’t going to be alone anymore.  I was going to have friends, but still the glass window unoccupied haunted me.  I always thought about it.  Why wasn’t there someone there for me.  I had been gone for eight months, didn’t they want to see me?

Do I not deserve to have friends who support me?  I always wonder why my sister has all of these perfect relationships and I don’t.  I start to wonder if I am bad at being a friend.  I don’t know, but it makes me feel lonely.  And sometimes when I go to bed I see the empty window, and I wonder if I was better off in New Zealand.  At least there I thought I had perfect friends.  I exaggerated them in my mind.  They were the best friends they could be.  There would be millions of them waiting on the other side of the window.

But now I realize that they are the best friends that they could be.  They are perfect in a smaller way.  They do the small things, and that is all that matters.  So maybe, finally I can get that picture out of my head.  Because I know, that if I came home now, somebody would be at the opposite side of the window.

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