Silent Goodbyes

I used to get calls just to say, “Guess what happened today.”

Now weeks pass with nothing.

I’ll send a message,

and the reply trickles in days later: “Sorry, I’ve been busy.”

The conversations that once stretched for hours

have been reduced to fragments,

like echoes fading in a hallway.

We once swore we’d always have Friday nights together—

pizza, old movies, laughter until our stomachs hurt.

Now she spends weekends at friend gatherings I’m not invited to.

I see the photos online,

her arms wrapped around people I don’t know.

It stings, not because I wish her unhappiness,

but because I wish she still wanted me there.

A friend I used to share everything—

dreams, fears, secrets spoken at 2 a.m.

But somewhere along the way,

she stopped confiding in me.

Now I learn about her life the same way strangers do—

through curated posts and captions.

It makes me wonder if the version of me she trusted

is someone she’s simply outgrown.

We never had a fight,

never a final straw.

Just different paths, different values.

I wanted simplicity,

she wanted status.

I craved honesty,

she craved perfection.

And neither of us said it out loud—

but silence became the answer.

Getting older means watching your circle shrink,

not always from anger,

but from quiet goodbyes nobody names.

And still, sometimes,

I catch myself reaching for the phone,

wanting to hear their voice again,

only to remember—

some friendships don’t end,

they just dissolve.

So I’ll ask you—

have you ever missed someone

who is still alive,

just not in your life anymore?