An Essay By Anonymous // 8/14/2000

Friendship, is you and I. Not something to be found, or bought. It is you, to me, an opening, of thought. It is an explosion of ones self, met by an equally terrific volcanic eruption. Sometimes though, explosions are very quiet.

A ripping, tearing, the feeling of a whip, a friendship is gone. It was a part of you; it falls slowly to the ground, where did it go? A friendship is a battle. Can we up hold it you and I? There is no sturdy bridge to sustain us, our bridge, the bridge of friendship is your arm around my shoulder, mine around yours.


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