Upon writing an email to a friend that I miss dearly but lives on the other side of the continent, this post popped into my head. I did not have an abundance of friends, one could say, I always thought of myself as rather strong in that I didn't always follow the norm, and was therefore an outcast to many. I did consider myself fiercely loyal to those that accepted my friendship, though. I still do. But betray me and my trust and it will take you a long time to earn it back.
I find myself longing for days since passed. Days that seemed so dramatic at the time, but looking back you mostly just remember the pleasant memories. Or at least try to remember mostly them. What I find I miss most was the undying loyalty and comradary that I had from people I thought would be around me forever. Even if we all went different ways after high school, we had each others phone numbers and emails, what would keep such a close group of friends apart? Apparently a lot...
I pine for the friends that would call just to say "hi, how's it going?" and the rare "want to meet up for a walk/movie/coffee tonight?". I yearn for the friends that would show up once in a blue moon, just because they thought of you. Monthly D&D games (yes, I loved playing D&D), all night movie marathons that lead to visits to the flea market in the morning, even just rollerblading up and down the streets until we opted for a game of "grounders" on the playground gym.
My heart breaks every time I think of it.
I miss my friends. The ones lost to cancer, the ones lost to pain, the ones lost to their own lives. I find myself even missing the ones that did betray my trust, wishing somehow it never came to that. Wishing they had been the true friends I thought they were because of the friendship I had come to cherish that we shared. But I wasn't important enough to them.
It scares me that the last time I saw most of my friends it was at a funeral. That's just wrong. Life is when we should see our friends, not in death. And sometimes I fear that they won't come together again until another death, and we'll all say how we should get together sometime, minus one more of us, once more...
"We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence."