Here's to Wishing

I don't think you know the affect you have on me. I don't think you realize how much your friendship, now forever a show for the onlookers, meant to me.

I watch you walk up to your bass standing next to me. I tried so hard to leave without you seeing me. I always fail. You touch my arm in such a loving way as you walk by, your hand still lingering as you circle around to my other side and then you pat my back. "Merry Christmas," you say. If only I thought I could muster the courage to say something more than mere pleasantries. Then I might actually try. "Merry Christmas," is all that sneaks it's way past my lips. I manage a decent smile.

"We're going to be away next week," you tell me. I don't know why you tell me, of all people, but I try so hard to ask what your plans are or ask if you're going to see your inlaws or something. Anything. "Okay," is all that comes out. The moment grows cold. I walk away.

Idiot. Fucking idiot. She was talking to you! Talk back!

I can't.

Why the hell not?

I'm scared.

Of?

I don't know. Her, maybe?

Shut up.

Sigh... I wish... Well, I wish a lot of things. But right now, I wish I could talk to you. I wish I could call you this very moment and ask you about your holiday plans or ask about your family or simply ask you how your day was. Those things used to matter between us.

But I got us here and I have to pay for it. I hope I'm right. I hope you don't miss me. I miss you enough for the both of us and then some.

You're standing right here. I wish I could tell you.