To an old friend

Zoe, when we were fifteen we were close,
        and I wanted to take you walking in the snow.
You played me music by The Cure and showed me
        songs you thought I'd like. We had a song for every day
        of the week.
You called me sweetie, and such, and told me you loved me
        in that way that friends do at that age.
And not once did we fight. I was always there for you when
        the boys annoyed you, and you needed to vent or talk
        about your frustration with the world.
And then you got a boyfriend and I learned heartache for the
        first time. We hardly spoke at all after that.
Did you do it to hurt me? Do you remember all those nights where
        we stayed up to talk?
Do you remember that time where we tried to define love?
How ignorant those kids were, thinking they knew it all.
It hurt to see you after you chose him, instead of me.