a personal note

Fading friendships are a quiet kind of grief. There’s no big explosion, no dramatic fallout—just a slow unraveling, like a thread being pulled from the seam of something that once fit so well.

One day, you’re laughing until your stomach hurts, swearing you’ll be in each other’s lives forever. And then, suddenly, the messages take longer to reply to. Plans get postponed, then forgotten. Calls go from daily to weekly to never. And before you even realise it, you’re standing in the wreckage of something that used to be so solid, wondering how it slipped through your fingers.

I used to think friendships ended with a bang. Now I know they mostly fade in silence. Life gets busy, priorities shift, and people who once knew your every thought become strangers with shared memories. And maybe that’s just the way it goes.

Still, some days, I wish I could reach through time, grab hold of the version of us that existed before life got in the way, and bring them back. But I know better. Some things aren’t meant to be reclaimed—only remembered.