Missing

Sometimes I am afraid of getting too attached to someone because coping with his/her departure involves a lot of insubstantial antidepressants. I am terrible at missing people. Most of the time I just spend the day thinking how it might have gone if they were here, then I end up wasting time staring off into a conjured fantasy.


It's the feeling you get when your parents buy you your first doll and you grow up with it settled against your bedpost always, but the day comes when you have to donate it to a playschool because life thinks you don't need it anymore. You've grown too attached, though, and you don't want to give it away. In the end the struggle between your rational guts and emotions is resolved, and you decide to just pass it onto the children. You think you will get by without your doll because you don't need a tangible outlet for your frustrations or giddy outbursts anymore.

Days roll by, then weeks and months, and you realize you are wrong. As potable water and rations are essential to the survival of human beings, company is vital to life as a whole too. We find this sense of social fulfillment in our friends; hence, they are as important as the air we breathe and the food we consume.

Friends go by different definitions depending on how close you are to them. Most of the people we know are merely acquaintances and hold not much importance unless we are obliged to spend a couple of years with them. That being the case, they develop into good-weather friends who are always there during the good times but aren't as active when storms hit the figurative surface. It's not entirely their fault. We are all good-weather friends to someone at a certain point. The thing is, they do not know much about us nor have they spent that much time in our company to actually be aware of what may be going on. If they do care, however, and make decent effort to become better friends, we develop an almost sincere trust towards them, and they become our close friends.

There are a few people, however, who seem to be guided towards us by what the non-cynical term as "fate." Best friends, we call them; and being with them is always a different kind of happiness akin to the soft bliss we feel when waking up to cool mornings and diffused sunlight. We don't have to put on social masks to impress them. We don't even have to impress them. They accept us wholly despite our gender preferences and horrible locomotor skills because we have something wonderful in us only they can see, and that is enough for them.

Friends account for around half of our personalities. They influence our decisions, the way our mental gears turn and even our taste in food. The time we spend with them is a gigantic phase in which we shape our own selves into what we subconsciously want to become since there is always something we admire in them.
Generally, however, friends are not permanent. They come and go as the seasons do. Therefore we can only take advantage of what little time life reserves for each individual friend-- because who knows, that person might just leave the next day.