[He wants to hook his thumb around the chain on his neck, pull out the locket hidden beneath the layers of clothing thick enough, sturdy enough, for this sort of cold weather. Dangle the golden heart shape with the word Friend inscribed across its front, that he put on the day he received it (June 19th - count the months, Tim) and never removed since.]
[Friend, like he didn't use them as a psychological fulcrum to pry himself away from the texture of their soul.] [Friend, like he wasn't an ever-present reminder, a threat, of the tenuous existence they'd fought like hell to establish.] [Friend, like he doesn't keep digging himself in deeper and deeper into problems they have to keep tearing him out from.]
no subject
[Friend, like he didn't use them as a psychological fulcrum to pry himself away from the texture of their soul.]
[Friend, like he wasn't an ever-present reminder, a threat, of the tenuous existence they'd fought like hell to establish.]
[Friend, like he doesn't keep digging himself in deeper and deeper into problems they have to keep tearing him out from.]
Friends, [says Tim.]
[They were kids that I once knew.]