Winter has always been the most depressing season to me; it’s not just the cold chilly nights, or the constant grey sheen that changes the color of everything in sight. It’s something more than that, something that sends shivers down my spine, even more than the icy cold winter wind. Even the thickest wool sweater can’t keep out this chill, this cold, haunting me at night as I lay wrapped up in my warmest blankets, trying to erase everything.

I thought I remembered there being a promise of friends forever, a promise even December mistakes shouldn’t erase or change. But something happened, something changed. That quiet shift now screams at me in the darkness, and I don’t know what to do.

Sitting on the floor of my bedroom, the photo album was spread out in front of me, the pictures of moments past tucked inside the protective plastic cover. Staring down at these photographs, with truly happy smiles glancing back, I couldn’t remember where they had been taken, or the moments behind them. They were memories lost now, somewhere between a snowy night and now. Gently flipping the sheet over, more happy faces, and more happy moments glanced back; I tried hard to remember the moments behind them, and the joy that brought a smile to my face. But there was nothing, no memory and no happiness. My mind was nothing but blank space, a void that couldn’t be filled.

Exhaling deeply, I closed the decorated book, sliding it behind me and out of view. It was like the emotion of not remember was overflowing me, and yet, I felt nothing. That was the saddest thing of all, the fact that my eyes could no longer cry any tears, and the fact that I knew, just knew, that there would be no tears that would fall over me. I didn’t know what I was expecting, or if I had actually been naïve enough to believe that childhood promises would really last until happily ever after, like in the fairytales. But of course I had, because friendship, true friendship, was forever. I almost missed the feeling of tears welling in my eyes, especially over the dryness that now plagued me. Feeling sad was better than feeling nothing.

Quickly, I stood up – brushing away an imaginary tear – and walked over to the window, glancing out into the blanket white of the winter day. One year, I thought to myself, repeating the words in my head; one year. Why was it that out of every memory contained within my mind, good and bad, that one night and one event was the only thing that stood out in my mind? It wasn’t fair.

So much could change in one year, and I hated the thought of how everything could come, and had come, undone. The world I had once known was now just like a dream I couldn’t remember; you knew it had happened, and knew that something good had happened, but the second you tried to recall what exactly had happened, and what exactly you had dreamt about, everything fell apart and you just ended up feeling more and more frustrated. Even reading over old diary entries sounded more like works of fiction than events that had happened to me. Now, it felt as though that could have never been my life, that lonesome nights full of self loathing and tears were all that could remain. Where had my world gone, and how far would I have to travel to find it again. It was somewhere out there, somewhere out in the blur of the world, living on it’s own without me, and having an awesome time, all while I locked myself in my bedroom, spending hours upon hours trying to remember even just one happy moment.

Down on the street, through the blankness of the day, some children in neon colored snow gear ran by; smiles plastered on their faces that were almost bright enough to melt the chill of the day. Anyone else probably would have smiled at the image of childhood innocence; I just wanted to cry. They had no idea what came next, and how much it would hurt; it would hit them like a freight train, blasting away that naïve innocence that now made them so special. Best friends forever, they would choke out through rings of thick smoke, what a fucking joke. I should have saved them a trouble, revealing the truth about friendship before they found it out on their own; I should have rushed down into the street, and told them that friendship was good for nothing but broke hearts and lonely nights; in the end, I knew they would thank me.

I didn’t want to be that person, the cynical one, the one who no longer believed that childhood happiness could last forever. But what other proof did I had than the lack of memories I could remember, and that aching feeling deep down that told me that the one person I really needed didn’t need me.

Then they started, welling up in my eyes, rolling down my cheeks, spilling down onto the cotton of the t-shirt I was wearing, falling like raindrops against the carpet of my bedroom, leaving tiny wet stops. I imagined, falling to my knees, each wet spot was mourning for every memory that had disappeared, and every broken promise. I cried for missing her, I cried for everything I couldn’t say, and every memory that remained hidden somewhere deep inside; I cried. Tears dotted everything like the falling snow outside, and left me even emptier than I already felt. More than anything I yearned to speak the words – the magical words – which would make everything okay again. But magic words were nothing more than childish games and big imaginations, and I had neither of those things anymore.

Sniffling, I wiped the remaining tears on my cheeks with the sleeve of my shirt, falling down against the scratchy carpet. Once again, I felt empty, like what little emotion that overwhelmed me had been completely purged. But where could I find the answers I was searching for, or the truth I longed to know; couldn’t I have found some answers, couldn’t there have been one answer handed to me on a silver platter of relief? I was tired of endlessly searching, spending my nights trying to remember something through all the static plaguing my mind. Once upon a time I had all the control, all the answers, and now; now I spent nights sitting in the darkness of my bedroom, the sounds of partying outside my bedroom window, wishing I knew something, wishing I felt something.

There is no perfectly written finale when it comes to heartbreak; just endless silences and awkward breaks in conversation while you think about that gnawing feeling consuming you, and turning you into someone you never thought you would ever be.