Friendship Band

Image credits:alamy

"I just wish we weren't scared to say

That there's expiration dates on the friends you make

As hard as that may sound"

Hayd- Head in the Clouds 

At eight, twenty bands hung from my wrist,
Bright threads in every color—
Each knot a claim to friendship.
I thought myself blessed,
The luckiest of them all,
Each band a testament
To the arms that reached out to mine.
But those bands were worn by juniors,
By moments that passed
And slipped from my skin.

At thirteen, only ten remained,
They were still wrapped tight,
But I believed in their permanence—
We were inseparable,
Or so I thought.
The laughter lingered,
But it echoed in quieter spaces now,
As if we were no longer
The same people beneath the same sky.

At fifteen, my wrist was empty,
The bands banned,
A revolt of sorts—
Against things that no longer fit.
Those old bands,
Once symbols of something bright,
Lay forgotten, scattered on the ground,
Crushed beneath feet
That had learned to walk
A different path.

Now at twenty,
The bands are just ribbons,
Threadbare memories tied to moments,
Wrapped in a language no one speaks anymore.
They have no meaning,
Just a fading echo of things
That once were.

What lasts longer—
Is it the warmth of a bond,
Rooted in sincerity, trust, and care?
Something rare,
Fragile as chinaware,
But strong enough to hold
When the world tries to shatter it.