It was a sudden realization, the kind of realization that stabs you in the back and makes you feel like there’s an endless pit in the bottom of your stomach. There would be no more hanging out or joking around. There would be no more late night phone calls to check and make sure everything was alright. It was the end.

He was my closest friend despite the couple of months we had known each other. We would talk for hours on end and tell each other everything. He was there for me and I was there for him. He knew when I needed my space and when I didn’t want to talk, but he would always be there waiting patiently for when I would break down and finally tell him everything.

In a way he was like an older brother. He was my protector; he had been since practically the first day we had met. I can still vividly recall our awkward introduction by our mutual friends outside of B building that day last summer. I remember how I had the hardest time making eye contact with him and how my stomach was twisted in knots as we talked. Our acquaintanceship grew into friendship over time and he made me feel accepted. I knew he cared about me, and I cared about him.

But all good things come to an end eventually.

I couldn’t figure him out completely, despite our closeness. He distanced himself every couple of weeks and then would come back to me. It puzzled me. He wanted me near, but not too close.

We separated and he found new friends; I was left alone. He still called and texted me late at night when he was lonely but it just wasn’t the same. He didn’t care. He was only bored and needed a source of entertainment. I remained his steadfast friend while he pushed me to the sidelines. My heart was torn in half between hating and wanting him. I had settled on hatred – it didn’t hurt as much.

Sometimes, things have to be over for a situation to get better.