Friday, February 22, 2013
Where oh where.
Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death. -Anais Nin
I hate to see someone I love so much only be half of what I've known them to be. It's hard to always listen, to stay firmly planted and be objective when things about a person's current footing in the world is so much different than what I currently see or have seen them to be at some time past. It's worse when this loved one has personally inspired me so much. So I'm just going to vent.
At the time I met you, I was sleeping. I was walking around living in an idea that wasn't a life or a love or a family. It was an illusion I was spinning, feeling that if I wasn't going to feel personal happiness at least I could bask in the joys of having the world see me as having done so.
The first day I saw you, it was sunny. From the first five minutes we were friends. You made a face. I laughed. I let down my walls that instant. I walked in the sun and drank coffee, and from day one, I was real. From day one, you were my friend. From day one, you were a kindred and you always got me and I got you.
As we began to know each other more and more, we got each other more and more. I could run to you with every silly crazy thought in my head because you understood it. Never had I known someone who understood them all the way that you did. You understood me so well that for a time it confused me and made me sad. It made me think this was what I wanted in a partner. These were in the infantile days of my own emotional breakthrough, back before I realized I don't actually want a partner at all. But.. I digress.
It took a long time for things to craft into the most perfect friendship I've ever known which is why it's so gut wrenching to barely see the you who I love shine through anymore. I know that people get stuck. We all do. And you're entitled to your time in the tar. I get that. I respect that. To hear your tired words, see your tired eyes. To hear the same fears and stories told a thousand ways. It's not that I don't care. It's not that I don't want to listen. It just hurts.
I miss you. Not your proximity, not your attention or your time but your spirit and your passion. Your words. Your creation of thought, your weaving beautiful thoughts that map things together like mine do making the mental image you see be strikingly similar to mine. And your dark eyes when they twinkle with excitement or mischief or just aren't fucking tired and worried.
I just miss you. And it's not only you who feels the weight of your lostness. I wish that I could find you right now too.