Moving On

We were BFFs, there for each other since childhood, through moves and crushes and weddings and babies. My kindred spirit, we could finish each other's sentences. We'd laugh until we cried and cry until we laughed. We'd talk deeply about spiritual things or drive by the cute boy's house a dozen times.
With the exception of a few years when we were very young, we've never lived closer than an hour from each other - and often half a country has separated us. But that never mattered.
I'm the quiet, sensible one. The one whose few priorities mean everything. She, on the other hand, is flighty. She wears far too many hats and stretches herself much too thin. She wants to do everything with everybody.
And so, really, I shouldn't be surprised that she's moving on. Rather, I should be surprised that our friendship lasted as long as it did. Lately my calls and notes haven't been returned, and I know it's because she's just got too many things on her plate. But that plate is always going to be full.
It hurts, and I miss her terribly.