The Prodigal friend. My friendship garment.

You came with one side and I with the other. We gently stitched each of our sides together creating our lasting cloth of friendship. It was awkwardly at first, well at least for me, but we carried on stitching. Now I love it, this friendship garment we’ve gently crafted in our own time. It’s ours and no one else wears us the way that we do.

Our colours include singing in the living room with spatulas, while you twirl in circles pretending to be a ballerina and I to be Beyonce. It is telling you about my family sorrows and private battles. My broken parts and my financial woes at Primi Piatti, as tears I am no longer able to control stream down my face.

I see our friendship as beautiful bold bright colours, bursts of laughter and defending a viewpoint we feel passionately about. Even on opposite sides I learn from you. Your opinion is always the one that is most unique amongst others. I had moments where I wished to be gifted enough to dedicate a poem to how it feels to be in friendship with you. I love wearing and boasting of the unique beauty of our friendship garment.

Our friendship garment is strong, even in the frays, it is inclusive, a picture unpixelated. The shades are different but clear, the cloth varies, but it’s stitched with strength, unity and Jesus. It is a sweet smelling aroma to anyone close enough to observe it.

Today I felt our garments opposing, I felt yours shrinking away from mine, I tried to stitch it together, but you shrunk even more and I was left with a gaping piece of cloth and nothing to stitch it onto. You pulled away, slowly at first, almost reluctantly, denying and even laughing at my hurt and concern in the obvious distance you created.


What do I have today? A one sided woven garment that used to be ours; once warm now draughty. Having you apart from it is cold and empty. There is an echo, because your voice and presence isn’t here as I speak and call out in expectation of your response. Each time my heart hopes. I tentatively make a sound in your direction but an echo of my own words responds back to me. Now I’ve put it away for a little while, this precious loved part of me. The part that is you.

It’s hard. I second guess myself. Has it been too short of a time for me to just put away who we are or used to be? Is putting us away giving in? Am I a bad friend, the kind to fold in, fold up and “put away” who we are/were? Or I am holding on to something that can never be pieced together again?

How long before I stop expecting you to be my friend again, how long from now to “I give up” on us?


All I know is, once we were friends and now we are are a shadow, a weak shadow of what and who we were. I used to mind, hurt and cry much more, I still do, but I no longer pay attention to those emotions, to stay sane and I carry on. I don’t know what else there is to do.

I love you.

In all this I love you, I want to stop loving.

I don’t want to stop loving you.

But I need to learn to understand that once you chose me, now you choose me no longer and I must respect and let go. It hurts.


I hope you don’t mind that I sometimes hint of who we used to be through pictures stories songs and places we’ve been to.

You see, you might’ve stopped loving and trusting and washing your nets with me, but my eye, oh my eye, my heart, damn it to heck for the persistent hope that betrays me in it; will perpetually be on that horizon waiting to run to you ,embrace you and shout “Prepare the fattened calf and let us feast”, should you dare, just dare, to choose me again some day.

Desolate sea- U.Guma



Author: U.B Guma

Jesus. Family. Friends. Music. Words. Coffee. Wine. Travel. Whisky

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