Things

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I think, most of the time, I forget that I can be a hard person to befriend. When I talk to someone (I say talk but really we all know I mean text), I notice the littlest things, the littlest details, the littlest changes. I notice the choice of words you use, how distant you are, the tone of your words. They’re things that will slip by most people but they’re the things that affect me the most.

I tend to get clingy around people I think I know and I think wants my friendship because I’m scared of them leaving with a head full of secrets that I shouldn’t have told them. I’m scared of being left alone, back in this darkness that will never fade, in a place where the sun will never rise, and dawn will never break.

But after a while, I’ll notice the difference. That you’re not so keen anymore. That, perhaps, you’re even ignoring me, like how I ignore the people who think they know me and just want to taunt me. I notice, but I brush it off. Maybe she’s busy. Or maybe he’s travelling. Or maybe they have bad wifi.

Then the days go by. Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months. Months turn into years.

And then I realised that we’ve stopped talking.

We, who said we were going to be friends to the end, who promised not to be like the rest, to break free from the stereotype and to be the ones who last, have just become another example in the ever growing pool of examples.

And then when you say hello again, after months of silence, I jump at it, thinking that maybe this is my chance to mend things, putting all the blame on my shoulders. Perhaps I should’ve reached out more. Stop shying away. Stop thinking I’m annoying them and reach out.

And my mind screamed at me to do so. When I feel it slipping out of my fingers.

“Grasp it.”

“Call them.”

“Ask them if they’re okay.”

“This is something you don’t want to lose, right?”

My heart is aching at the lost of a dear friend. Of someone I had once counted on, and loved with every inch of my soul. But they’re gone, already one foot out of the door before I even dared to believe it.

And I’m left with the ghost of them in the cave that is my mind. Dark and damp. Eerily quiet, with just my screams to fill the silence. Where light never comes. And where dusk never ends.

My head is a very dark place, with just the occassional friend to light the way. But the torch never lasts. Just like everything else in my cave, it burns out. Or gets extinguished by the dripping water, blackened with my thoughts.

There are some things I wish I knew in my life.

“Time heals.
Mountain winds sound exactly like ocean waves.
You are worth everything now.
Walls can be destroyed.
The sun always rises (and is always beautiful).
Children know the answers.
There is music in everything.
Logic doesn’t produce magic.
Somewhere, somebody loves you.
You don’t need to choose mediocre when fire exists.
The moon orchestrates our nights and tides.
Trees can grow through rock.
Your heart expands when it’s broken.
You should do it now.”
– A List of Random and Unrelated Things to Remember by Victoria Erickson

Like where the sun meets the ocean or how time passes slowly when you’re with the people you love. Or how a kitten grows up. How the morning dew forms and makes the blades of grass sparkle with hope. How beautiful fire looks in the dark. How diamonds glisten in the sun and how the snow falls to the earth.

How it feels to sing your lungs out without fearing judgement. How it feels to laugh until you want to cry or when you’re so happy that tears pool in your eye. How to feel bliss without guilt and joy with no remorse. How it feels to have a group of people to count on, without feeling like an outsider. How it feels to have a broken heart healed, or a shattered soul pieced back together.

How it feels to love myself.

I wonder if I’ll ever experience the bliss of these little things.

But when I take a step back, and take a good long love at myself… I’m not sure I ever will.

After all, when I’m surrounded by sunshine and roses and blue skies, who would even glance at the night sky, with stars twinkling out and the moon not even whole?

Much love,
Angie

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