When you expressed disapproval, the others had to go. It wasn't that you made an ultimatum or even suggested I reconsider things. Instead, you merely hinted vague criticisms, validating my own insecurities, and I acted accordingly. They went away, you reclaimed your place of superiority in my inferior life, and things continued as they had been.

It was such a common theme with us that I wondered sometimes if you were the one I really loved and wanted. How else could you make the others seem so easily replaceable by comparison? And I adored all your quirks, too, both little and not-so. The mystery, in my eyes, was why you tolerated mine.

How things have changed. My adoration's faded to disappointment; my pride's turned to shame. I see you but hardly recognize you. What happened to my miracle of rapport, the friend carving newer, better categories in the spectrum of my regard? Time has illuminated you; today, your flaws are all too apparent.

Your pedestal has fallen, and you on it. Yet I want to remember the shining glory I once saw, and not this glaring mess. Also, my feet fear the broken shards; forgive that I must now travel elsewhere.

Gaze on those ruins, once our friendship, if you like. After all, they're public domain. But as an old friend, I must warn you -- if you value your bearing, tread lightly. I know you won't want to fall and face the battered graven image of someone you can never be. Someone you never were.

Your feelings don't matter. They might make your decision harder, maybe even excruciating, but the end result won't change. You'll go, and I'll be alone. Someone always goes, no matter what naive promises are uttered or what gullible ears believe them.

And the ears do believe, or at least consider — no one wants the solitude of that lonely island that imprisons us. I certainly don't, anyway, so I trace mirages in the watery expanses around mine. Is that a rescue vessel there, on the horizon? Maybe you'll be the one who keeps his promises. Maybe I'll manage even if you don't. Yes, there are storm clouds coming, but I shut my eyes and imagine they're moving away. You make it so warm and dry here, now, I almost forget them.

I lie on the deserted shore and cradle the radio that spills your voice. Did you really say you're here in every way but the physical one next to me, and that you're on your way for even that? Could I possibly have heard you right? I want to make sure I understand what you say before I decide you're lying.

And you must be — after all, this is nothing I haven't heard before, but no one's come. It could be my bad directions, or the inclement weather, but at night I ache with the possibility that you're just not looking. Maybe it's simply that no one's looked very hard.

I listen to your sweet murmurs but don't let myself believe a word. If your intent is to paint false hopes, someday you'll grow tired of kicking someone who's already fallen so many times she's stopped trying to rise. And if your intentions are good, you'll still stop eventually — this search must be frustrating for you too, especially when I doubt you. As for me, there's nothing to do on this beach but sit on the sand and wait for one thing or another. As long as you keep talking, I may as well listen.

I tend to think you are sincere, but I don't think that makes a difference. No matter what your heart says, you know deep down that your borrowed boat is already due back. A dutiful boy, you'll return it someday soon, no matter how much it hurts. A smart girl, I know this.

Yet some nights, I still close my eyes and reach out to the place you'd lay beside me if you found me.

The next morning, I consider shutting off the radio for good.