This is dedicated to my friends, so-called friends, and those who think that I consider them my friends. The word is so overrated and misused, yet so dense for all it’s levels. I don’t even know how to use it anymore sometimes. I’d rather say that I am a friend to none than to be a friend to all. That’s just the irresponsible (non-accountable) part of me. I take care in throwing the word around, you never really know who they are until something happens.
April 19, 2008
I’ve aways been mum about most details in my life, even to my friends. I believe that most details are only really reserved for need to know kind of people, most of the people who know me as their friends don’t need “need” to know. (At one point or another the only fact that I need others to need to know would be the fact that I am color-blind, the fact that I dabble in art makes it instant conversation/ice breaker topic. Add to the fact that I could be most instantly be exposed to ridicule in most settings, given what I do, or more often than not, wear. But good part is, I can pull it off half the time.)
Going back, my lovelife has always been part of the secrets I choose to keep. I’d proudly declare if I was with someone not because I want to but it’s part of the “need to know.” You know, fanning out the flames even before they spark, guarding myself from indecent proposals and uncomfortable vagueness in aspects of human relationships. Cocky, I know, even I can’t believe it.
Now that it’s over, I feel that there’s nothing really more to say about it other than the fact that it is, well, over. Like what I’ve always said when faced with grief or sadness volunteered to me by people I know, nothing. What can anyone really say? What is there left to comment about? In times of loss, silence and detachment are my best-est friends. It’s simply out of character for me to comment on things that seriously cannot be helped. And it’s such a waste of time doing so.