Hollow

My friend died. Or she used to be my friend and we grew up and apart in that gradual painless way that's kind of rare. In any case, she died and there is just this emptiness in place of where I didn't think of her anymore. Some people wish they could cry because that would mean the knot in their stomach or chest or throat would melt and wash away and some of the pain would go with it. But there's no knot or pain or tears. Just empty. It's so empty that I actually feel like it would be fruitless to cry; like there wouldn't be enough tears to fill the space. Emily is in bed and Jesse is gone. And my friend who was only 23 died when she swerved to miss a cow. Her mom died in August and I cried as soon as I heard the news. Why don't I cry for Lisa? She really was someone who deserves to have people cry for her too, you know? When we were 12 we exchanged little gold bracelet broken hearts that said "Best" and "Friend" and I can't even cry. In middle school we wrote little story lines about horses named Flash and Kali and Blazer and Stacy. They were quit silly. My mom wants to go the funeral and I think I might want to go too, but not with her. That's probably not very nice, but I just don't think she'll understand. She'll want to hug me and I don't want to be touched. I just want to be able to cry and feel whole.