The other day whilst deep cleaning my bedroom, I stumbled across a box of keepsakes. Within the box was items such as four year old birthday cards, receipts from 2018, pieces of old costume jewellery and polaroids of people who I no longer know. It got me thinking about how easy it is to cling onto old parts of yourself.

I often think of those that I grew up with, the ones who would sit and plait my hair at lunchtime, whose families would make us chicken nuggets and chips, the girls I’d have sleepovers with every weekend, watching things we probably shouldn’t have, like Naked Attraction. I’m still best friends with most of the people I was close to at twelve, but I also think about those who’ve drifted away. When you’re young, these people feel like the loves of your life.

I think about the people I spent every day and weekend with when I was fifteen, how it felt like they would always be a part of my life. But paths diverge, you fall out over little things you can’t even recall now, and sometimes you grow apart instead of together. There are people out there who still hold my secrets, who shared experiences with me and remember me as they saw me then, and I find that a sweet, almost comforting thought. Time doesn’t stop, but those connections fade, leaving us frozen in each other’s memories, as if we’ve somehow left a version of ourselves behind.

Friendships, like relationships, don’t lose their meaning just because they end. The time shared, the love exchanged, remains as real as it was. I notice pieces of people from my past in the way I talk, the things I enjoy, meals we shared, and the way I learned to be a friend. I miss those childhood friends I don’t see anymore. I wonder what they’re doing, how they are, and I hope they’re doing well. It’s a funny feeling, they’re almost strangers now, yet my heart still holds care for them, even if we might not say hello if we passed on the street. I see their faces change on social media, just as mine has changed in the mirror.

I saw the first boy I ever really liked at the pub recently. Of course, I don’t feel that old attraction, but it was strange to see him, now a grown man, and remember how naively I looked at him back then. I used to hate him, but now that’s softened into a fond nostalgia.

That’s what time does, it stretches the sharp edges of old feelings until we’re left with softened memories. The way you stop being friends with someone eventually fades, and you’re left with pieces of people you’ve picked up along the way. A few weeks ago, I went to Dublin with the girls I’m still close to. We’re all grown up now, switching homework problems for corporate dramas, crushes for commitment issues, loom bands for nicotine habits.

We still love and laugh with each other the same way, but as we talked about those summer days in fields with twice the number of people we are now, I knew that if we had the chance to go back for a day, we’d all take it. But those times have come and gone, and I’m grateful for those who stayed, like my best friend of seventeen years, who’s practically a sister, who has made me laugh until I’ve cried and has held me whilst I’ve cried. We were girls together and we’ve grown together.

I wonder sometimes what other friendships might have looked like if they hadn’t faded, but some connections just aren’t meant to last forever. I’ll never sit in those kitchens again, share secrets under the covers, have my first cigarette, or jump into rivers with those people, because I’ll never be that child again.

All that’s left is recollection. I’m a sentimental person, and I love having these memories to reflect on. I know that ten years from now, there will be aspects of today I’ll look back on the same way. Isn’t that what we are? A mosaic, or a puzzle pieced together from all the love and lessons we gather from people as we move through this experience that we call life? So, to every friend I’ve had, to everyone whose path has crossed mine: thank you. I hope you’re well.

Ellena x