She was my best friend.
We did everything together.

Our worlds diverged.
Still, I kept her in my heart.

I smiled when I saw her in passing,
hugged her
when her parents made her
break up with her first real boyfriend.

She laughed in my arms—
because laughter
was the only emotion allowed.

I kissed her forehead,
told her, “It’ll be okay,”
then went back to choir—
me in alto,
her in soprano,
as it was always meant to be.

Her mother said
she was looking out for her future.
We worked as friends
only as long as I made her look better.

High school came,
and I held her back
from the girls she needed to be seen with.

My favorite memory:
making her French fries,
Crisco hot,
double-fried.

She couldn’t stop eating,
said she’d never tasted anything so good.

In that moment
I knew I’d helped her soul feel joy—
past the rules
that never made sense.

© 2025 Raven | Jasmine on the Grave. All rights reserved.