this was originally part of a longer poem, but i cut out the poem and kept the prose part. i'm not sure if this is long enough to be fiction, but also i'm not sure if this counts as a prose poem. maybe i'll post the poem later; i don't know.

waiting for that feeling to come.

best friends are like pieces of pottery that go into the kiln fitting together perfectly, like puzzle pieces. sometimes the fire makes you stronger, and after, you fit together just as well as you ever have, as well as you ever did, and as well as you ever will, and your friendship is all the more stronger for it.

but sometimes, sometimes you come out warped and cracked, ill-fitting -- even broken -- smashed to dust.

you wonder when you and she came out of the fire ruined and which one of you is actually broken. which one of you can still be saved.