Knowing with every jolting beat I am alive, and I hurt. It is a searing longing that drives home the solitary commitment of transience. I pine for the friends that stick closer than a brother. The ones that keep you safe and hold you up. The friends that love you no matter your flaws.
I know I have these friends, but they are shadows. Far from me at times, and the closest thing I have ever seen to heaven. Glimmers of hope in the sky that overwhelms me in it’s vast unknown. I need their hands and arms, their voices and laughter. Their passions and vices. I need them.
You may have these friends as well, somewhere out there. I cannot describe them in any way other than soul mates. The ones that leave you full with eternities of emptiness for the future. The ones that never have the awkward introduction after time apart but forget there was ever space or time to separate you. There is no end, but always more to add to the beginning.
Sometimes I know I’m just Homesick, but I also understand that sometimes I am weary for the glimmer of Home I see in my friends.
That hearing the truth is never easy. It shows your faults, your wrongs, your rights, and your face. No one likes to look at themselves in such a bright light. Telling the truth is even harder at times, because rather than themselves, you are suddenly the face to their discomfort, you are the initiator of the pain, you are the catalyst for discomfort. And you aren’t usually telling this truth to complete strangers, but your friends, people you share life with, that mean something to you. At times, that emotional wrench in the gears is too much, and you sever the ties on the relationship. Others, it binds them tighter. This is the risk you have to take.
There are times when I find myself completely consumed with a single thought. Over and over, the situation replays itself. Sometimes with a different ending, but the facts are hard and steely. In the end, while my eyes pool in fearful hurt, a single word pervades my thoughts. It starts quiet-like, but grows to a stentorian bellow, turning my lungs into the breath of an instrument only desperation plays. “Help.” Until it is the only thing I know.
The beach, like the bristles of a boar,
I noted that I was here before,
Before the tide of anger rose,
Swelling up and drowning those
Who tried. They tried to keep their heads,
But the shock turned limbs to lead, Sank them with their weary hearts
To depths they knew were only parts
Of life, the one they kept so close with joyous stints, but too, morose
In its end, painlessly near,
For the pain is spent underwater, here.
Unbiased parties don’t exist in my world presently. It would be useful.to have one at this time, however, I will be left to thought and waiting it out. There are far to many sequential events running through my frustrated head that sorting them into their neat boxes is not an option. The jumbled fact of emotion and reality press deep into my side. A thorny mountain I cannot see over. I am weary of this patient landslide that is far more honed in the art of passing time. I do not want to be specific, everyone has that situation you wish to explain in hypothetical terms for the sake of all involved, just to get some clarity. This is mine. The other side is so hard to feel. Even though I know what is going on. Exactly.
Do not be satisfied with the culture that tells you that you’re supposed to be a pantless without-a-care young person. Do not be satisfied with the silence of your bedroom. Do not be satisfied with the endless stream of memes. Do not be satisfied with friendships that exist only on screens. Know that you are part of the world. You are part of the most beautiful parts of the world and the most evil.