She was a girl with a broken heart, yet she did not cry for a boy, she did not cry because of a kiss, or the holding of hands, no she cried for the memories, yet again, not the memories of a boy, but the memories of the friends. The friends who were stuck like glue, the friends who always knew. The friends she never doubted, the friends who never shouted. The friends who thought forever, until they were severed. Different ways and different places, different emotions, different people, different heartaches and different heartbreaks, different lives and different stories. Different memories she was not a part of, and different friends she did not know. Yet, she was always there, to pick up the pieces of their shattered hearts, to wipe away their tears with open arms. But who was there to pick up her pieces? To wipe away her lonely tears? Only the memories, the memories of the friends that once were and the friends that still are.