It was an odd sort of nostalgia, an odd sort of longing, an odd sort of empty. It was haunting in it's familiarity, the way your stomach twists when you see a stranger that resembles a long lost friend. After you pass them, you miss the stranger. You miss the friend, but you miss the stranger more, because you didn't ruin things with them. You didn't lose them. You still have hope.
That's all that friendship is really, hope, she thought. Hope that this person won't let you down like the last. Hope that this person will love you unconditionally. Hope that this person will answer their phone at three in the morning if you call. Hope that this person will keep their promises, will hold your hand, will carry you when you need it.
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| credit: Lauren Treece She struggled with reconcilling hope and physical loss, as the list of all those moving out into the world flashed on the inside of her eyelids. She had always lived by the motto that if it was meant to be, it will be. She knew not all friends would last forever, and the ones who did were the ones who mattered. And people had moved before. And she was right, the ones she still knew, years later, were the ones who mattered.  But it was frightening thinking about losing anybody, because everybody mattered to her right now. These people were her ground, her earth, her support and her connection to something more solid than the fleeting oxygen, those who entered her life only to leave. That departure was easy, it was expected. But the earth moving beneath her feet, that was different.  "Attachment is suffering", she had read the other day, before vowing to live a more continual life, reach a more fluid existence. She knew she could not lose attachment entirely, because attachment made life meaningful, but she recognized it as an after the fact attitute- moving forward after recognizing the attachment had become toxic. |
