When we make friends, we always think they're forever. We picture ourselves at their wedding, holding their children, sharing a glass of wine as old people to reminisce about the good times. We even think of living together, travelling, sharing our lives, but we never consider the possibility of saying goodbye to them.

You could be rocked by a huge fight that puts you and them in a battlefield against each other; maybe one of you causes an irremediable damage to the other. Or maybe you just wake up one day and realize you're not talking as much as you used to, you don't feel the need to run to tell them about anything that happens to you, or they don't need your company at every moment like they once had. Maybe you followed different paths, you don't have much in common anymore, and you don't have the same lives. Simply, you change. You meet them again after some time to try to catch up and realize you have nothing to say; you don't laugh at the same old jokes anymore, and you see how different you both have become. It's such a nostalgic feeling, sad even. Because you realize all those plans you had with them won't happen. The scenarios in your head of your future together will be no more.

I honestly don't know what is worse: blowing up in the most dramatic, ravaging way possible and leaving a love in shambles, or simply standing there, witnessing as it slowly dies without being able to save it.

I've had both. I loved so much, and I lost even more. My friends, whom brothers and sisters I considered, they blasted away or vanished, both just as painful. We won't be college roommates no more; they won't be my bridesmaids no more; I won't be their child's godmother no more. The love that felt so eternal, undying and true, will only be a memory stored in the back of the head of a person who is loving again, only someone else.

But people like me don't forget. The love doesn't vanish, only the faces. The memory of every person I've loved is still attached to my soul. And that is because I love so much, I give everything I have and even more. I tie myself to those I care for. I belong.

Belonging.

That feeling is dearly treasured by any being capable of love. I've always longed for belonging; to a place, to a person, to a dream. Who am I if not the person who loves the person I belong to? Who am I if not someone who chases a dream or goal devotedly? Or the place that shelters me blissfully as a home that I'm meant to be in?

Who am I if I don't belong?

When I was thirteen I met Mikey. He was a feminine boy who was cast away by our classmates because he wasn't one to play football and talk about women, he actually felt more comfortable hanging out with the girls and he wanted to be a hairdresser.

We became friends and I instantly saw him as a little brother that I had to protect. He came from a problematic family with an abuser father and a mother who was trying her best with her seven children. As if that wasn't enough to deal with, he had to deal with the fact that he liked boys. He was insulted and hit equally by strangers and people he knew well. I turned myself into a human shield to cover him from any threat that could come his way; I made my home his home. But we grew up and we changed.

We both wanted the same, we loved intensely and wanted that love to be reciprocated by those we belonged to, and I belonged to him as I belonged to everyone I loved. Until, at some point, he stopped belonging to me and I became a burden. But my door was always open for him still.

I spent days and nights alone, feeling torn apart, choking on feelings and not having a single soul to hold on to as I was drowning, because he wasn't there. No one's home was my home, no door was open for me. But yet, every time his heart was shattered on the floor by those he devoted himself to, he returned to me. And I always opened the door.

Years passed until I could move to the next home; I found something else to belong to, other people, and the sorrow cause by the remembrance of Mikey was no more, but the love remained. It stood so strongly inside of me that I still felt disappointed every time he let me down. I expected him to invite me to his graduation, or him to come to mine, but none of those things happened. And then I finally understood that I was no longer part of his life, so I told myself to remove him from mine. I tried several times.

I got into college and met wonderful people that made me see that nothing is too fatal and final, neither the love nor the sorrow. And I began again. One more time, I searched and found something I could belong to.

I thought that chapter in my life was closed, I hadn't heard from Mikey in almost a year until one day, at six in the morning, the bell of my house rang. It woke me up because my dog barked, but I ignored it. I cursed whoever asshole came to bother us that early and closed my eyes again, when my mother's husband walked into the room.

"It's for you" he said in a somnolent tone.

"What? Who?" I had never been more confused. No one looks for me not even in the afternoon, let alone at sleeping time.

"I don't know, some guy" he communicated annoyed as he walked out.

I was even more confused after that sentence, since I had no male friends and nothing even close to a boyfriend. I put on a sweater because it was freezing outside and I had no bra on, and I headed out. At first, I didn't recognize him, he had glasses on and had grown a beard, but after a few second I knew him.

"Mikey?" my surprise was translated in the tone of my voice.

He only muttered a soft "Hi" and smiled weakly, but I could see that he was crying. I rushed to the gates of the house, keys in hand, eager to let him in into the warmth. I opened the door once more. I grabbed him to drag him inside but he pulled me into a hug instead and cried desperately into my neck. I breathed in deeply and closed my eyes like a mother reuniting with her long lost child.

"I am so sorry for bothering you. Thank you for opening the door" he cried.

I stayed there, holding him, as he let everything out. "I'll always will" I said, never more certain, "I'll always open the door to you."

The love remained.

I walked him into the house and led him to my room, explaining the situation briefly to my parents on the way, who were reasonably concerned.

I rushed to the kitchen to prepare lavender tea for him, to help him calm down, and then I sat next to him ready to listen. He explained he had gone out with some friends and they abandoned him in the streets with no money in his pockets, he could only walk to my house and ask for help because he lived way too far. He looked ashamed. After drinking some of the tea, he asked to go to the balcony to smoke. He offered me a cigarette but I kindly declined.

"I was with a guy" he started, "I really liked him, like, a lot. I was enthusiastic" the last time he had been in love was when he met Jack, the same guy I had been in love with. When he told me about it I didn't feel betrayed or angry, I understood him. I knew what he was able to cause on a fragile heart. "He reminded me so much of him", I knew who he was talking about.

"Jack?" he nodded, "I've been there. Seeing him in other people so much it made me want to run scared. I know what it feels like, it's hard. But I went through it alone, you're not. You have me", I reassured him with every ounce of love in my soul. "No matter how much we grow apart, I'll always be there."

"I know that. Thank you" he knew.

I waited until he finished his cigar to offer him spending the night, but, before I could say a word, he spoke first. "Can I ask you for a favor?" I nodded.

"Yes, anything."

"Can you lend me some money? For the bus."

I was a little startled but, if he really wanted to be home, I understood. In moments like that you just want to hide in your bed, right?

"Sure, here." I went inside and got fifty from my wallet.

He thanked me one last time and headed out, I only asked him to let me know when he got home, and he promised he would.

After some time lying in bed, thinking, I fell back asleep. The next morning I had no messages from him. "Did you get home quickly? You never texted me" I typed.

One hour later I got a reply, "yeah, I forgot to text you and I fell asleep. Sorry"

I felt a weird sensation I couldn't explain but, after more days passed and I didn't hear from him again, I realized: I always open the door. He knew I always open the door.

I never fail. I'm the one who's always available.

I felt dirty, abused. My love was a tool. I felt so much anger, then sadness and, finally, disgust. But one feeling that remained was fear. Is this the price of belonging? I felt disposable.

The scars left by the people I loved and lost in the past were never closed, and any similarity between actuality and the past was salt on them. It itched and burned every time the thought of repeating history set itself in my head. I was paranoid.

Every time Alex or Darcy weren't there in my darkest hours, I saw Mikey; whenever Luke's indifference came afloat, I saw Jack; the moments when everyone else was laughing as if I wasn't there, I saw all the people I belonged to who left.

I knew it was damaging and self-destructive, comparing stories and living constantly in the past, but I couldn't help it. I pushed people away in fear of them pushing me first. I'd rather hold the knife than to stitch the wound. At any minor inconvenience, I snapped. There was no room for broken hearts and disappointment, even if that meant blowing myself up and taking everyone around me.

My mind was working tirelessly. 

They don't love you.

You're boring. Annoying.

You ask for too much.

They're going to leave you.

The only thing that I could do to beat the inevitable fate, was to leave first.