How does one say farewell?
I don't want to do this.
As I walk down the street with a smile, to the park where we first met, I deliberate the past. Your absence is beyond missed. I think of you often and fondly.
Since you moved North, you no longer call or message. It also seems that replying to my texts, is all too difficult of a task. Perhaps I have done something? I do and don’t care all at once. More care than not. Maybe you don’t speak to me because your best friend is my ex. I do, however, care for the space you take up in my mind. I can no longer keep the platonic intimacy alive if there’s nothing but memories now. I once had an abundance for you, it’s now shriveling like a dick in the snow.
Is my presence in your life fleeting? Insignificant in conjunction with others? My soul drifts from one connection to the next, walking away seems so easy to others. I hope it gets easier for me.
Your charisma is in evanescence, its slowly but surely dissipating. Not quite souring, well, maybe once or twice it has. Much like Fleabag, I don’t know where to put the love that I have for you. Do I place it on the bookshelf in my bedroom? Or, amongst the phenomenal amounts of clothing I have. Maybe in my sock draw? Where do I channel it? Its vast in quantity and must go somewhere deserving.
You haven’t died, you’re very much alive, I don’t want you gone, but, you are. You really are. I have conversations with you in my head. What are you up to? I hope you’re happy. You were kind of like a brother. I know boys are disappointing in their twenties, but this is painful. I have a fucking t-shirt with your face printed on it. You are missed. But I don’t want to miss you. I want to hear the sound of your voice again, when you’re speaking about your day. It sounds like I’m in love, in a way, I am, it’s just not the kind you want to spend the night with. I wonder if I am also missed. I just can’t find a place to put the care I have for you. Where, where does it go? Into my music? Another friend? A foe? I wash dishes and try not to think of you. This piece is for you but I do not feel relief.
The last time we spoke was on the phone. You seemed to be doing better. Sorting it all out and putting pressure on the importance of routine. Seeing someone new. Surfing. Your pup. Working. Sounding happy and gradually becoming organized. The potential you have is remarkable. Sorry, I can’t quite help the feeling that maybe you never actually gave a fuck about me. At this point, I think I’m okay with that.
Life is quite good at the moment. Circumnavigating the positive, with past friendships that are melting will always be a challenge. No matter how many friendships go astray, the loss never ceases to amaze me. I can’t rationalize saying ‘fuck them’ when nothing all that bad has happened. I mean, lots of bad has happened, but not you. We laughed lots and had many opinions of each other, not always good, but we let each other be ourselves. We really did. In a way, this shows that I am not stuck, but at times, preoccupied with the past and need to follow the present.
Cutting people off has never been my prerogative. Loyalty is ingrained within. It is, however, necessary to leave if the company is causing unwarranted stress or upset. Reciprocation is something I tell myself to look for in new people. It doesn't always happen in the ways we expect it to. How do we maintain connections with people we love, but those people put absolutely no effort in. Is there a timeline? Do we get them a few months or years of space to find for us, then realize its just not meant to be. Can we ever leave without disappointment? Is disappointment always a precursor to connection?
I want to be a person that believes life is built upon small experiences, making it one big one. I believe this to a great extent, everything is temporary, I also yearn for stability, trust, honesty, knowing and longevity. As a person who has been particularly impulsive, solidity is looked upon fondly.
Why do people leave so easily?
To be continued…