it is easy to recall the moment our friendship fractured. it is still readily available to relive in my mind, just as technicolour and bursting and tragic as any other momentous wound.

           thinking back, i am just surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. we were awful for each other from the very beginning, i now understand. but stitched through the awfulness, we really were sometimes beautiful.

           like the time we sat under his family’s blossoming peach trees in the backyard and philosophised with the melting sun. his voice, i remember, was so soft and candy-sweet that the quiet animals of the outdoors tentatively approached to listen, too.

           he’d always had that welcoming miraculousness, that inviting aura, which seemingly took effect on every earthly creature. myself included, which is why at the time, i didn’t think to bring up my mild peach allergy. i didn’t want to ruin the idyllic scene—wanted even less to interrupt his careful, dulcet musings—and when he handed me a freshly-plucked peach to eat, i pretended the buzzing against my lips was a kind of secret, tormented kiss.