Nov 15, 2008 20:36
I have come to realize a staggering amount of my friendships are founded inside bubbles of glass. Like their cousins, they are fragile, but unlike them these can theoretically be repaired. But it's risky. It requires caution if you don't want to cut yourself. More accurately as of late, however, these precious spheres break over intricate fields of barbed wire. I no longer have to go to trivial lengths to repair them, suffering the occasional call for a band-aid, but I find myself torn into and torn down just to get to the shards. When I do collect these pieces - pieces that are getting smaller and smaller every time - I feel like the proverbial sweating SWAT man wiping his brow over a ticking bomb.
The fuck can you do though, right? When you find your social selections are limited and you're too attached to what you have, even if the other end is drumming their fingers along a righteous throne in wait for your inevitable return, you basically have to suck it up like a bitch and swallow your dignity. I've been to the cold place where there aren't any friends.
I'd rather linger in a crack den than sleep on the street corner.