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We sat around the campfire roasting marshmallows. I was back. Back with the people I loved.

I hadn’t been this happy in a long time. It’s amazing how such a small group of people doing something as small as roasting smores, can bring you such happiness.

I had tried to fill the void left in my heart by hanging with the ‘cool’ kids and going to parties with my new ‘friends’. But it never worked. Those people weren’t my friends. They were just people I happened to know who were good at pretending also.

That void left by my true friends could only be replaced by true friends. But in the two years since they had died, I hadn’t made a single real friend.

But now they were back and joy filled my empty heart.

The orange-red flames licked hungrily at the logs, and I stared deep into their depths. There was something about fire, something that I liked.

The friendly jests and teasing, thrown around reminded me of old times.

Times when we were all kids and didn’t worry about making new friends. Because we had each other, and that was enough.

Then it all started to feel too familiar. The words, and the smiles, it had all happened before.

Suddenly a gust of wind blew smoke into my eyes and I looked away. My nose and throat stung, and my eyes started watering.

When I felt the smoke clear, I opened my eyes and turned back towards the campfire.

But it was all gone. The laughs, the fire, the smoke, the smores, the friendly jokes, the faces.

My friends.

And then the tears that had started wetting my cheeks from the smoke, turned into tears of sadness.

I was back on my couch. Back by myself.

And I was crying.