A Friendship I Regret Losing

Ever had a friend who felt like family, only to watch them fade from your life like a song you can’t quite remember? That’s what happened with me and Sarah. Losing her is my biggest regret—not because we had some epic falling out, but because I let life’s chaos steal something irreplaceable. This is the messy, human story of our friendship, and why it still stings to think about.

We met as college freshmen, thrown together in a dorm room that smelled like stale pizza and cheap air freshener. Sarah was a whirlwind—loud, unfiltered, with a laugh that could make you forget your worst day. Have you ever met someone who just clicks with you, like they’ve got the cheat code to your soul? That was her. She was the friend who’d drag me out for late-night tacos or convince me to ditch studying for a random adventure. We’d stay up till 3 a.m., sprawled on our lumpy dorm beds, talking about our big dreams, our dumb crushes, and what we’d do if we won the lottery. With Sarah, I could be my real, messy self—no judgment, just acceptance.

We weren’t perfect. She’d drive me nuts leaving dishes in the sink, and I’d annoy her with my obsession with schedules. We’d bicker, sure, but it was the kind of bickering that ended in laughter, like siblings who know they’re stuck with each other. Don’t you love how the quirks in a friendship make it feel so real? She was the yin to my yang, the spark to my caution, and together, we were unstoppable.

Then life happened. After graduation, I moved to a city that never sleeps, chasing a job that demanded everything. Sarah went to a quiet coastal town, diving into her art with a passion I envied. At first, we tried to stay close—long, rambling phone calls, silly texts, promises to visit. But you know how it goes. Ever notice how “I’ll call you soon” turns into radio silence before you even realize it? My job ate up my time, and Sarah was busy with her art shows and new friends. Our texts got shorter, our calls stopped. I’d scroll through her Instagram, seeing her life unfold—new paintings, new people—and feel a twinge of something I couldn’t name. I told myself we’d reconnect later, when things “settled down.” Spoiler: they never did.

The regret didn’t hit me all at once. It crept in on a random Tuesday, when I found an old Polaroid of us at a music festival, covered in glitter, laughing like nothing else mattered. My heart sank. When was the last time we talked? Three years. Three freaking years. I sent her a text, a lame “Hey, been a while, how’s life?” She replied—kind, but so formal it hurt. She was engaged, living her dream, surrounded by people who weren’t me. It was like trying to hug someone through a glass wall. I’d let her slip away, and now we were strangers with a shared past.

What kills me is who I was with her. Sarah brought out a version of me I loved—fearless, goofy, ready to take on the world. Without her, I’ve caught myself shrinking, playing it safe, overthinking everything. Ever wonder who you’d be if you’d held onto that one person who made you feel alive? Losing her feels like losing a piece of my spark, and I hate that I didn’t fight harder to keep it.

Why do I regret it? Because I could’ve done more. I could’ve called, visited, sent that dumb meme I knew she’d love. Instead, I assumed she was fine without me, that our friendship could survive on autopilot. I was so wrong. It’s also the what-ifs that haunt me. What if we’d stayed close? Would she have been there when I got that big promotion, or when I cried over a breakup? Would I be braver, happier, if she were still in my corner? And it’s the lesson I learned too late: friendships don’t just survive—they need love, effort, time.

I’m trying to do better now. I check in on my friends, even when life’s a mess, because I know how fast “later” becomes “never.” I still think about Sarah, wondering if I could fix things, maybe show up at one of her art shows with a coffee and an apology. For now, her absence is a quiet ache, a reminder to hold tight to the people who make you feel like you.

So, who’s the friend you’ve let slip away? And what’s stopping you from sending that text right now? Life’s too damn short to lose the ones who matter.