I tell her my deepest desires and secrets. I tell her the little mundane things I did that day like what I had for dinner. Sometimes our discussions are deep and philosophical, and other times they're silly and I fall asleep laughing.
She's a good friend, a constant companion, because no matter wherever you are in the world you can always find her. Even if you can't see her you know she's there, stuck orbiting the earth until the sun explodes and sucks us all into oblivion.
You know your secrets are safe with her. Who would she tell?
She is a quiet friend. She doesn't give advice or criticize. She doesn't tell you that you're wrong to think that way or that you sound crazy.
But there are times, every so often, that while I'm talking to her I realize that I'm just talking to a rock in space. A cold piece of space matter that reflects the sun's light because it carries none of its own. And when I snap back to real life, I feel lonelier than when I started conversing with a rock.
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