The Pond

It is Friday so I am in my lovely orange kitchen, The BFF next to me, after waffles. We're huddled by the heater. It has been unseasonably warm and beautiful, but, today, the Winter has returned and it is pouring outside. I think it's The Weatherman being all metaphorical (as opposed to meteorological, snigger). You see The Pond is leaving to Faraway on Monday. Which makes me feel grey, and cloudy, and makes big raindrops of the salty version drip out of my eyes, creating little puddles of sadness on the table and floor. Very much like the weather outside, without the salt though.

The Pond and I have known each other for three years, but it feels like forever (in a good way) and, if I believed in reincarnation I would say we'd probably known each other in many previous lives too. We are, as Anne of Green Gables would say, kindred spirits. Once we'd met, there was a period of almost infatuation... I said I didn't like her (for various, joking reasons) but we pursued each other like primary school children with a crush, both knowing, I think, that we were destined to be solid friends for, well, forever.

There were some wierd coincidences - her beloved brother, who died in a motorbike crash a couple of years before I met her, and I, share a birthday; her mother's birthday is on the day of my Tragedy. Stuff like that. Most overwhelming though, was just that we got on so well, instantly. We just got each other, and still do. We were discussing it the other day - we're like siblings. We love like siblings and, yes, we fight like siblings, and through it all, we are completely and utterly secure in the fact that we will always be there.

In the past three years, we've shared a house, a love for The Big Black Dog and The Siamese Princess, many tears, more fits of happy laughter, a LOT of champagne, secrets, and a mutual adoration.

But now she's leaving and, while I am happy for her because she's going to join her love who I adore too, and I really hope that she is content and happy in Faraway , I just can't bear the fact that she'll be so, well, far away.

Is it bad that each time she packs a box and puts it in the lounge, ready to go, I secretly unpack it and throw the box in the recycling?