What exactly do you call it

When there’s something wrong

With the people who are more than your friends,

But more like family

Or the best roommate.

You can’t call it worry;

It’s much worse,

Because worry is just a dull throb,

And this sensation is a raging burn in the body.

And it’s not concern,

Because if it was just concern,

You could let the matter go;

This time,
This person,

You could never, ever, let it go.

It’s most certainly not fear,

Because fear is irrational,

And this is totally rational.

But when you’re concerned one-hundred percent

For your best friend,

Your life,

Your everything-but-lover,

All you know is the heart pain

That keeps you up at night and makes you cry out

And shed tears longingly

For their happiness.

Because you cannot be happy

Unless they are:

This is the mark

Of a true best friend.