I miss my friends. Not the ones that are still there, but the ones that I thought were always going to be friends. The ones who I assumed would be there. That they would be there during my success and my failures. There use to be more of us sitting at the bar. Sharing stories about our past. I hoped that we would soon grow tired of each other’s stories, because they would end up only being about each other at some point. We all were different. Each from a different planet mentally. I enjoyed that kind of company. Now sometimes conversations feel like I’m walking through food I’ve already digested. Good friends are hard to come by, but I suppose the good ones are sticking around.