my cell sits strangely quiet these days
it doesn't beep, or ring, or even sing,
I often wonder if it will be today,
from you, a message, my cell will bring,

a best friend you said, I probably was,
or the closest thing to one, I would be,
hateful words isn't what a best friend does, 
and pushing me away seemed so easy,

maybe I didn't deserve a best friend,
if I took you for granted, I apologize,
maybe you're far better off in the end,
no more secrets, and no more lies,

I'm writing again, a few words a day,
I would text you to share the news,
if it makes you happy, it's hard to say,
a writer must always pay her dues,

a writer is a writer, is always a writer,
even when she takes a much needed break,
when she feels the words are trying to fight her,
and she shouldn't feel like it's a big mistake,

this thing, I'm unsure that we can mend,
the trust has surely broken down,
but I miss the one I called my friend,
as my cell sits not making a sound.


Copyright © 2011 by Shawn Ann Murray