The death of a friendship was usually slow and insidious, like the wearing away of a hillside after years of too much rain. A handful of misunderstandings, a season of miscommunication, the passing of time, and where once stood two women with a dozen years of memories and tears and conversation and laughter—where once stood two women closer than sisters—now stood two strangers.
Karen Kingsbury (2009). “The Lost Love Collection: Even Now and Ever After”, p.20, Zondervan
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