“If I pay you, will you please pretend to be my friend, just this week?”, I type and delete.

I stopped hanging in groups of three when I realised it was two friends and just me, you see.

Two seats with just me beneath.

Two spaces on the street, and just me pacing behind the scenes.

Oh, to be one of two,

Rather than one of three,

Or, in fact, just me.

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“If I pay you, will you please pretend to be my friend, just this week”?

The melody of our friendship, once a song so unique,

Now lost to time, some would call antique.

On me, you could always depend.

My arms and heart, to you, I will always extend.

What is the price of a fleeting friend?

I’ve paid in heartache and solitude.

I sorely miss those days of me and you,

Once side by side, now worlds apart.

The ache of your absence pains my heart.

“If I pay you”, a tearful plea,

to stay, if even only briefly, with me.

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(I couldn’t make my mind up so here’s 2)