It hurt when you told me, happily, that you were moving to the next town over, away from me, and next to her.

It hurt when, one morning, she appeared you and said you would soon live next door her
-- to laugh with her, to ride to school with her, do everything with her that you used to do with me.

It hurt as I left the room, and you, so caught up in your plans with her, failed to see me slip out.

It hurt when, every time you saw her, I was unwillingly morphed into nothing more than ears that had nothing to do but listen to you talk to her.

It hurt when, at the year's end, I waited for you to hug me goodbye like you had everyone else and all I got was a nod as you walked toward your new home.

It hurts to see you walk towards me to start a new year, knowing that you will soon be moving.

It hurts to try to be happy for you, and it hurts to know I am not.

The fake smile hurts my face as I listen to you talk about your new life.

It hurts to know that to you, my smile is real.

It hurts when you say you are not coming home with me, although you promised you would.
It hurts even more the next day.
And the next.

It hurts that you greet your other friends with hugs, and me with only words, although I know I mean almost as much to you as they do.

It hurts that you honestly don't realize any of this.

It hurts as I watch you slip farther and farther away from my life, and it hurts even more that you are oblivious.

It hurts, like dull, pounding hammers, as over the next few weeks I see you spending more and more time with her, who you used to never see that often.

It hurts when you see me and start to talk, but break off when you see her, your new best friend, and you don't even finish your sentence.

It hurts as I stand there, abruptly abandoned, something which is happens with more and more regularity.

It hurts to hear you spout on and on about all the details of your day to her, when only a month ago you would have been telling them to me.

It hurts as I put my head on the table and it hurts as I close my eyes, but not as much as it hurts to try to ignore your conversation.

The cloud of memories hurt as they pelt against my face like a sandstorm, each little grain searing my skin with an image of happieness that is now alien to me…

--You and me, laughing and teasing each other on the way home, back when you still rode my bus.

--Me, calming you down from your panic, the only one who would put up with your constant anxiety.

--Whispering in the movie theater, laughing and making fun of the antics of our fanatic friends, who sat a few seats down.

--You, brushing the hair out of my eyes and laughing because the wind gives it a life of its own.

--Walking with you to practice, listening to you laugh at me as I spun in the sun without a care in the world because, just because I was with you.

--Us on the phone, laughing about summer and complaining about the year that was to come--the one I was living now. I had never dreamed it would contain this.

It hurts as the sand swirls away, ripping off a piece of me to fly with them and leaving me in the present, which has not been covered by the smear of nostalgia.

It hurts as I sit there next to you both, leaning against the wall and hurting for the fact that to you, I may as well be a part of it.

It hurts when someone notices your abrupt switch from me to her
--it hurts because it means it is not all in my head.

It hurts as I listen to you comfort her about her over exaggerated problems, unable to see that I sit right beside you in much worse shape.

It hurts that the person who asks me what is wrong is not you, my best friend, but someone who I usually hate.

It hurts when said person asks me if you are dating her, because even though you are not, it reminds me of when he used to ask her that about you and me.

It hurts when, after another long day, you hug her goodbye and walk away again, not knowing, although you just spent an hour with me, that I am about to cry.

It hurts that I still care.

It hurts that you are the only person who I want to notice my sadness and are the only one who does not.

It hurts to lose your best friend--it hurts like Hell.