dimlyrealizedpatterns:

“Love,” in English, is formed in the mouth by an upward lick, then a parting of the lips, then a small final nibble on the lower lip. “Love” is a goddamn sexy word.

I spent today wondering how my old friends are. 

Not old as in elderly, of course. All of the older folks I know can still run circles around me, and “elderly” has such a negative connotation now. No, I’m referring to friends who have somehow, in some way, drifted on. 

In high school, I had a lot of chums. We learned how to survive together. We bonded; some of us dated each other, some of us learned to hate each other, some of us became amazingly close friends (and still are today), and some of us passed away (deceased or otherwise).

Now… I have, I think, two close friends from high school, a handful of people I could call if I were ever home again, and that’s really it. This is a typical thing, I’m sure, but it’s still strange. 

It’s amazing how many people from my “innocent” years have become distant memories. Even the wonders of the internet haven’t kept me in contact with some of the people who, if you asked me then, would have been my blood brothers and sisters for life if it hadn’t been for that pesky thing called, well, life.

And what a pesky thing it is. Fast forward to my formidable college years, when I was probably younger and more naive (at least in comparison to the older students) than I ever was in high school. I was hilariously out of my league in virtually every situation I found myself in, from my first real relationship to my first frat party. I made amazing connections and met the most amazing people, but the people who I swore I’d never go a day without talking to have become mere spectres now. Not enemies, not tense acquaintances— just the photo sensory afterimage you get from staring into a lightbulb for too long. Hazy and on the fringe of my peripheral daydreams. 

It’s kind of sad. I wonder how they’re doing. I hope they’re doing well. They really are amazing people.

It’s also not so sad. In irrevocable ways, they’ve changed me. They’ve helped build me into who I am today, and I know that I have had a lasting impression upon them, as well. It’s just how this whole cosmic conga line works, really: we meet people, we experience things, and we continue fastening these facets of our existence onto a metaphorical train, shooting into the distance on the iron tracks of our mortality. Or maybe it’s a blank canvas that’s being painted by the colors of happenstance and chance, flecked and brush stroked by the people we meet. I don’t know. There are several pertinent metaphors for what I’m trying to say. I think you get the idea.

Mostly, I’m rambling because I’m tired. The gist is that I’ve been thinking, fondly, of all the people I’ve met and have shared my time with since I’ve been old enough to recall memory. Even the bad times have had their impact on my personal journey. 

It’s not really that I miss them, either— the people who still make cameos in my daily routine are superb examples of who I’m happy to share my time with. I suppose I just wanted to remember, clearly, all the faces that smiled when I needed a smile. 

Hope you’re all well and happy. If you’re ever in Boston, hit me up.