Third Stage
I was asked recently by a relative stranger what song or album best described me. I wont go into details here, but after answering I got to thinking in a rather melancholie kind of way about an old friend. I met her years ago. More than I want to admit as it will show how old I really am. I dont want to believe how many years have gone by. Before I get yelled at for calling myself old, let me say that I know I am not old. Its just that more years have gone by than I am comfortable with. I met this young lady and we clicked. Not romantically, thought that was experimented with briefly, but as friends. We had good times and bad. Amazing times and terrible. We had times of hatred and times of love. We had times where we spent literally months together every day, and we had times where we went months without speaking to each other at all.
She stayed by my side when she should not have. She always called me out when I was doing something foolish. She never tried to change me, though she encouraged me to want to change myself. She never judged me, though she encouraged me to judge my own actions. She was there for me, but only as long as I was willing to take responsibility for my actions. She would help me if I first prooved I could help myself.
Recently my memory has taken a shot. It is not as good as it used to be in regards to learning new things. But in remembering the old, it is as good as ever. One day she was gone. One day. Wednesday. A slightly overcast day. We were in my kitchen in my old town home. I was leaning against the stove while she stood in the doorway. She asked me to not let my upcoming divorce get in the way of our friendship. I said "I wont." Those were my final words to her.
She stayed by my side when she should not have. She always called me out when I was doing something foolish. She never tried to change me, though she encouraged me to want to change myself. She never judged me, though she encouraged me to judge my own actions. She was there for me, but only as long as I was willing to take responsibility for my actions. She would help me if I first prooved I could help myself.
Recently my memory has taken a shot. It is not as good as it used to be in regards to learning new things. But in remembering the old, it is as good as ever. One day she was gone. One day. Wednesday. A slightly overcast day. We were in my kitchen in my old town home. I was leaning against the stove while she stood in the doorway. She asked me to not let my upcoming divorce get in the way of our friendship. I said "I wont." Those were my final words to her.