She was my best friend for a reason.

She was the girl who drew beautiful celtic spirals and knots in class, the girl who planned on going to art school or enrolling in a fancy culinary academy and, honestly, could have done both because she was just that talented. She's the girl who helped you with your geometry homework in the morning and had to explain it to you again in the afternoon because you forgot how to do it. She's the girl who turned the phrase "Take my strong hand!" into a years-long inside joke that never fails to make me laugh.

But now she's the girl who can't spend the day with you without wanting to smoke a joint, not recreationally, but in an every hour type of deal. She's the girl you spent the day after your birthday with and who called you a pussy for not wanting to inhale nitrous oxide from a whipped cream dispenser along with her latest drugged out friend. She's the girl who makes you feel sad because you know deep down inside her, behind the glazed eyes, the old Nikole is still there, bright-eyed, smart, and full of the passion that doesn't seem to be present any longer. I just don't know how to reach her.

I always believed that we'd conquor the obstacles in our post-high school years together, leaning on each other for support each step of the way.

It's just me now and it feels fucking lonely.

I miss you, Nikki.