Tag Archives: Friends

Losing her

 

There is a still voice in my head.
If I meditate I can hear it.
If I follow its mandates, it gains clarity.
It always speaks the truth.
It is the juxtaposition
Of my intelligence
My years of experience
The leanings of my heart
The echo of the Tao.
Unexpected bubbles from the subconscious.
I know it when I hear it.
It always speaks the truth.

She turned down meeting me again
She had a good reason
And I refuse to push.
I trust our friendship.
But the voice said
In clear unarguable certainty

You’re losing her.

I don’t want to believe it.
But the voice never lies.
Maybe I can push a little harder
Regain the fading attachment.
But I am her friend because
I never push.
Everyone else pushes.
Everyone else gets her time.
If I push,
I become the squeaky wheel.
I become the annoying commitment.

I wish I had never thought this thought.
Now it has been given form,
And the power to strengthen
Into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Are friendships made of fairy dust
Entire worlds jointed together with ephemeria
Just to sparkle then fade?
Are they really composed of convenience?
Am I the only one
Who goes on loving just as hard
Even after I have been left loving alone?
Friends like these
They rise and fall on Fortune’s wheel
Into my life, out of my life
Do they still think of me?
I think of them.
If they came back into my life
If they showed the slightest inclination
I would welcome them with puppy enthusiasm
Happy they are home again.
Am I the only one?

I am afraid to lose this one.
I trusted adulthood
Would keep us connected.

 

But the voice never lies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Get up

 

Friends keep us up.
We remain open eyed
Because they shake us.
Get up, they say.
Get your ass out of bed.
Come play.
Look at this beautiful world.
How can you sleep now?
Why are you wallowing like this?
Pull free from this sticky mire
take my hand
I’ll help you.
My example is your example to follow.
I’m awake.
I have troubles.
You do too.
Let me get you a coffee.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Being There

 

My friend wants to see me.

I’m sad, she says. Someone has died.

I’m here for you, I say.

Of course I’m not there.

I’m 150 miles away.

You can come by, I say.

She drives all the way here.

I consider making her brownies

But I’m too tired even for box mix

Having had a headache all day.

She comes in

Brings me chocolate.

I give her hugs

I give her a clean bed

I give her little else.

I feel useless.

We don’t have much time to talk

She has to get up early.

I wish I could do more

Even when she feels like this

She has made all the effort

She has brought me gifts

She

has blessed

me

On her sad day.

 

Maybe it’s nice to spoil someone else

Maybe it helps.

At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

Sometimes I forget

How generous she is.

How I am often the selfish one

When she is around.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

To make a friend

 

How exactly do you

make

a friend?

Out of the thin air

Out of the faceless crowds

You pick someone

Then come

Delicate first efforts

Some texts, some calls, some online discourse

Soon you can get a little closer

No sudden movements

Don’t scare them off

Feed them frequently

Small gifts

Eventually they trust you enough

To let you into their house

Hug them whenever you want

Get drunk together

Go for nothing drives

Drop by uninvited.

You don’t make a friend.

You tame one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Journal – Haggifying

I tried to draw for Inktober tonight but it was so abysmally bad, even I am giving myself a break. Mostly I’m just happy to still be able to talk, and breathe. It’s been an increasingly gross day. I’m watching this virus bloom in the warm culturing agent that is my body. My throat is closing up, a tiny series of trap doors, and with each one I lose another note to my voice. My coughs are coming more frequently now. Sometimes I have a sudden unpleasant awareness that I’m running out of air, drowning in my own fluids.

Why can’t colds leave as fast as they arrive?

 

Going for a walk with sick coworkers

K sounds like she has no nose

Uncharacteristically pepless.

H is physically weak

She nearly falls over trying to take a photo.

I cough and rasp my way through each sentence

But talk a lot more than usual.

Together we walk our fifteen minute break

Slowly

Cackling like old hags

Trying not to laugh too hard at ourselves

Lest we spur on another pulmonary problem.

“Flash forward thirty years,” I say,

“And this will be our constant reality.”

Let the healthy young men and women beware

The three plague sisters.

Flee from their slow, repulsive approach!