I thought long and hard as what to write before I came to one conclusion: I simply don’t know.
I’ve sat here for hours. Typing and backspacing. Logging in and out. Staring at the white background. And still I haven’t written a single word.
Does it matter if my thoughts were left unwritten?
No, of course not. It wouldn’t change anything.
I used to listen to people’s whines and woes all the time. I lend my ears and time because I knew how much difference that would make. But often when I looked up, they were looking expectantly at me, hoping I could come up with something wise to say. Hoping that somehow, I could come up with any solution. And I did exactly that. I dug deep for the answers. And at times I struggled, just trying to find the correct words. Cracking my head to find something, anything to say. Those expectant eyes. I couldn’t say how badly I wanted to just walk away.
Now I do just that. I walk away.
At the rare times when I decided to sit down and listen, and my little words managed to put some sense into their heads, my heart gave a small leap. It felt good.
And then I started wondering why I changed. And whether I should change.
I view those in my life as fragile chinas crowded on a shelf. There are those at the very back, dusty and untouched, waiting to break. There are those at the front, new and polished, waiting to break. There are those that have already broken, scattered everywhere on the floor. Then there’s me. And I’m left to gather the pieces and wait for the others to break.
I don’t want that to happen.
It’s not hard to accept these are just faces among many other faces. They come and they go. I couldn’t help but wonder when will they walk out of my life, how long will it take before I’m forgotten.
We hang out together. Does that make us friends?
We tell each other stories. Does that make us friends?
We’ve known each other for years and still, does that make us friends?
I was told that all I needed was to trust, and to have faith.