A cliché.

The most bitter moment in life, for me, is to acknowledge that you no longer know someone anymore.
When someone asks, ‘Oh, you know such-and-such?!’ And you can no longer say, ‘Yes. Yes I do.” The moment your response is, ‘I used to,” a small part of you is gone. Whatever tiny, shrunken piece you had saved subconsciously, immediately swirls away in the gust of your acceptance. That they are a stranger. You don’t know how they are, or if they over came that illness, or if they still like the color orange, or pumpernickel bread… because they are a stranger.
Most people eventually turn back into strangers. So few have the honor (and time) to stay connected. However, some of these transitions–let’s call them ‘turns’–these turns from closest friend to total stranger teach you something. Only brutal turns teach you something about yourself. Your strengths and weaknesses.
I watched a best friend turn. I hadn’t accepted it until I had to tell someone, aloud, that I do not know this person anymore. That they are now a zombie in my life when they were once human. My cliché and internal lesson about myself is that I’m much more capable than previously thought. I don’t crumble.
In that all telling sentence, “I used to,” the last dust that had settled in my breaks blew away with my acceptance. My conviction.
The braver things tend to be unseen and unheard.

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