Old friends

I texted an old friend tonight, Pat. We've more stories than frito's has lays. No matter how drunk or stupid we were, we could never offend each other Hell, we even shared an apartment in Tampa Bay.
This was my second try. And my last.
And it's not just him.
I wonder, have i changed? Or not changed? Or not changed right?
I like old friends and the times we had.
Reformed? I can do reformed.
More fucked then ever?
We can work it out.
But it seems i've become the skeleton in the closet to all who ever called me friend.
I wonder if this is unique only to me.
It doesn't feel good but i am what i am and sometimes what i was and sometimes what i've become.
Apparently, this is beyond the manual.
Once again, i find myself wondering about this word "friend" and the value of its worth.
Actually, i'm wondering about the value of several words i've held in esteem.
I'm going to miss Pat.
But now i wonder, were we actually just two strangers that shared a time?