A long time ago, I saw a boy laugh. Barely able to breathe type laughter. Clearly he had no care in the world. “Dangerous,” I thought, to show that much emotion around the others. Everyone knows that he had shown his hand. Frankly, I acted repulsed, but deep down I was jealous of his freedom.

Growing up in the same neighborhood, he reached his hand out to mine and dared to smile. Hands interlocked, we ran down to the riverside. I learned how to catch a fish with my bare hands. Just us two was how we spent every afternoon that summer.

Knowing that boy from years ago, makes this new reality worse. Lips that once smiled freely, don’t dare to move at all. Mainly his eyes are cast down, and his hands are shoved in his pockets. Nothing draws the eye to my friend who used to shine brightly. Only memories exist as a storage for our friendship. Perhaps he’ll meet me by the river once again, when he unchains his burdened heart.

Quietly I wipe the tears from my eyes after extending him my hand. Rejection tastes bitter and coats my insides generously. Something bad must have happened because how could one I loved so dearly treat me so cruelly? Though I will never give up on him, he has already attempted to sever our tie which is rooted deep within my soul. Understanding has never been my strong suit, but for him I will learn.

Various times throughout my week I gaze upon him from afar. When I see him, I hurt all over again because a glimpse of the boy exists in his face when no one else is looking. X-ray vision is not even needed to see that he has been broken. Zealous loyalty for the boy I once knew urges me onward to smile his way and reach out my hand once more.