I watched again as my sister yelled out words and listened to the echo bounce back to her through the empty house. I watched again as men with sweaty foreheads downed yet another bottle of water while leaning against the truck that would not only hold all of the furniture and toys, but my memories as well. I watched again as mom and dad bickered on what things should be donated and how the objects we kept were organized. I watched again in the mirror as tears rolled down my face, painting my cheeks and blurring my vision.

You would think that I would be immune to the constant pain of starting over. But no amount of experience could prepare me for the blade dripped in the words “We’re moving” continuously stabbing me in my chest. The usual lies of “We’ll keep in touch” and “I won’t forget you” joining it.

Of course, with the technology nowadays, shouldn’t these lies… not be lies? That’s what everyone thinks. Sure, it’s good for saying hi, and acting like the bond you once had was still there.

But eventually, the realization that you have officially lost the people who promised to be friends with you no matter the distance settles in, adding more knives. Your conversations become shorter and shorter with every text. Scrolling through Instagram, and watching snapchat stories, become a painful need to stay in the loop. Jealousy and sadness are now boiling in your blood when you watch your friends move on and do things with a person that should be you. 3 more blades added.

It’s when you look down, and see no more room for anymore knives, no more trust for you to bear, you have to open your eyes, and move on, just as they did to you so easily.