Friends are the keepers of memories and secrets; I have plenty that know much.
There is often a shift that occurs against my will entirely, where those friends begin to harbor secrets of their own.
Their effort goes with their attention, and I no longer am a priority for it.
In their absence grief stays, a constant companion to rival the space they no longer make for me.
My memories and secrets hold so much more weight with grief, and I have no choice but to keep it to myself.
For it is always the friends that leave and the grief that stays.
A Series of Observations 