A recipe for anxiety

There she is – a top scorer,
7As in the bag and a bright future
tantalisingly lying ahead of her;
London-bound and on a full scholarship.

 
We started off on the same path –
Building sandcastles after school in the
run-down sandpit near our blocks and
our homework long forgotten and lost.

 
We grew up and attended the same schools;
Our parents nagged at us equally but
somehow she was always the top scorer while I
barely struggled to make it a pass.

 
We were best friends since young but
I don’t know what went wrong –
Somewhere along the way, somehow now
all the laughter is long gone.

 
What’s wrong, you ask me;
why aren’t you smiling any more?
something is bothering you, you say
but what can possibly be wrong?

 
Nothing, I say – absolutely nothing at all
I looked at your radiant smile and
somehow, I felt as if my problems were
too naïve, too unimportant to be cared for at all.

 
We stopped going out because you’re
always too busy – and every time I needed a shoulder
your phone always seemed not to be working so I
carried all these hurt like big, fat boulders.

 
Today, I sent you off at the airport –
you’ve packed your bags as if you’ll never come back.
And maybe, somewhere deep inside I knew; I thought
I’d lost you a long time ago and now I know it’s true.