I was going through my field notebook and found some journal entries from last year. As I was reading through them, I remembered the loss of a friend, more accurately the death of a friendship.



I pained over it. I tried to save what could be saved. But he didn’t want to. I don’t blame him. Sometimes, I don’t like myself either. I don’t see the fall out as his fault; we both had a hand in it. I guess some good things really don’t last.



I used to miss him. But now I realize that I have not only gotten over our friendship, I speak of him with bitterness. He doesn’t speak of me at all, nor does he enjoy breathing in the same space as me.



Oh well. You win some, you lose some. Losing him isn’t my proudest moment, and I know it’s his loss as much as mine. Sadly, he does seem happier without me in his life. And if that’s the last good thing I get to do for him, so be it.