My Dear Friend, You Mean the World to Me (I love you..)
You know, I'm so sad.
At my friend's death this year and that there wasn't a single person who heard how sad I was, who took the time to understand how much he really meant to me, to have the courage to really listen to me speak and comfort me. I remember I traveled abroad shortly after and my cousin said she wasn't in the mood to meet with me this year (our once in a year used-to-be-important-and-precious rendezvous) because of a death of her distant elementary school friend. And I wondered why no one thought I could be sad, too? But that I still would have taken the time to meet with her.
Priorities. Whether you have the time is a matter of priority.
I think my friend is like my brightest but deepest secret. People don't want to touch the surface of how sad I really am with a ten foot stick. So I hold it inside, cry late at night or early in the wee hours in hotel rooms, and think that I will never be able to meet again with my dear dear friend, that there may never be anyone again, how I had been saving up all these things to say to him in person rather than e-mail before it happened, how I had still been emailing him a week before, how I was also important to him and that has never happened before and may never be again.
At my friend's death this year and that there wasn't a single person who heard how sad I was, who took the time to understand how much he really meant to me, to have the courage to really listen to me speak and comfort me. I remember I traveled abroad shortly after and my cousin said she wasn't in the mood to meet with me this year (our once in a year used-to-be-important-and-precious rendezvous) because of a death of her distant elementary school friend. And I wondered why no one thought I could be sad, too? But that I still would have taken the time to meet with her.
Priorities. Whether you have the time is a matter of priority.
I think my friend is like my brightest but deepest secret. People don't want to touch the surface of how sad I really am with a ten foot stick. So I hold it inside, cry late at night or early in the wee hours in hotel rooms, and think that I will never be able to meet again with my dear dear friend, that there may never be anyone again, how I had been saving up all these things to say to him in person rather than e-mail before it happened, how I had still been emailing him a week before, how I was also important to him and that has never happened before and may never be again.