Nostalgia

I've sunken into my end of your couch, you at the other, each of us nearly completely surrounded by pillows. The gray corduroy of the cushions is warmingly welcome. It's a comfortable position to be in.

As we sit there, vegging out to endless hours of CSI, I'm oblivious to one glaring fact. I'm happy here. Simply happy. I could stay here forever as long as you're here to keep me company, commenting occasionally on the terrible programming we're subjecting ourselves to.

But what we put on the television is of no consequence to the evening. In fact, the worse it is, the better time we have. For the tv is not the reason I spend so much time at your house, my dear friend. It is you. Your smile, your laugh, your company. Just you. You don't know the storm you helped me to weather by being you.

The hour is approaching 5 o'clock in the morning, and our eyes are heavy. I think you dozed off once or twice, refusing to send me home to sleep. We're still having too much fun. But I know you need your sleep, and I do too for that matter. I say goodbye, you give me one of your hugs (they always were the best) and I set off walking home, earbuds blasting something to keep me attentive in the dark.

Arriving home, I sneak past my dad getting up for work and climb silently into bed. No need for them to know what time I arrived home. As I lay my head on my pillow and sleep quickly descends, I can't help but smile. What a great night.

I awake, the smile on my face slowly disappearing as reality sets in. Just a dream. No. Not a dream. A memory. A fond recollection of a time that once was. A time that could have been hell, but was bliss because of her. She was laid back, honest to a fault and a frigging riot. She made the problems of my life melt away, for a few hours at least.

My smile returns. I'll always remember her. My friend.