Friend.


It’s one of the purest words I know, second only to another in my heart. A friend - a person who stands by you in your highs and lows, who never leaves your side, who supports you no matter what. Isn’t that what they call a true friend? I don’t know about others, but for me, that’s what friendship means.

Yet, sometimes, this definition blurs for me, tangling itself with that of a lover. After all, isn’t it true that we ‘love’ the people we care about most? And we care deeply for our friends, especially our best friends. But when you add a romantic angle to this love, things get complicated.

As I look around, I see people whose idea of love isn’t tied to someone standing by their side in the present. Their idea of love is often rooted in their past, somene they 'used to' love, an old flame, a memory, a ghost of what once was. Isn’t it strange how this generation twists something as pure as love? It scares me. Scares me to love, to care too deeply. What if the person I care for sees love the way the world does now? What if they never truly see me? What if they are still enjoying the hidden sweetness of their bitter past? 

I’ve always been the good friend, the one who listens, who gives more than anyone asked for. Never the best friend. Never the lover. I gave my all, but still, I remained a shadow, just a friend. Maybe I was never important enough to anyone, not the way I wanted to be.

And yet, despite the scars, despite the fear, I still believe in love. Not the love the world has rewritten, but the kind I’ve known. The kind I gave, whole and unbroken. Maybe that’s my tragedy - loving in a world that’s forgotten what love means.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

For you, I would

For you, I would save my last piece, let you warm your cold hands in mine. For you, I would wake before the sun, just to send the first good morning sign. For you, I would share the "equal" slice, yet somehow, yours would always be more. For you, I would trade my window seat, so you could watch the sky and soar. For you, I would wish on every 11:11, dig through jokes just to see you smile. For you, I’d let you pick the movie, even if it means sitting through it twice. For you, I’d swap my lavender for black, pause the drop of my favorite song. For you, I’d fill my notebooks with hearts, missing you when days feel long. For you, I’d change all my passwords, reminding to the day you came. For you, I’d learn every rap verse you love, just to sing along and say your name. For you, I would take the longest way, just to "accidentally" pass you by. For you, I’d write a thousand poems, turn whispers into lullabies. For you, I’d fold love into paper, tiny hearts in every sha...
Read more

Fear? Maybe

 I’ve seen people fear many things, heights, depths, attachments, and more. Some let their fears show, wearing them as plainly as the weather, while others hide them behind smiles and laughter. I’m neither of these. I don’t show my fears, nor do I cover them. I lock them away, acting as though they don’t exist.  What I fear the most isn’t being forgotten—it’s not even being considered. While others grieve not being someone’s priority, I wrestle with the emptiness of not even being an option. I don’t matter enough to rank anywhere. I simply exist, unseen and unnoticed, like a shadow fading at dusk. There’s a theory about how men never move on from their first love, forever seeking her reflection in others. The thought amuses me, but it also terrifies me. What if I’m never truly loved by anyone? What if I wait my whole life for something that never comes? Well, I can still wait and fade. And this my fear, will for sure erase me, and I’ll happily be wilted knowing I wasn’t killed...
Read more

"I love black tea"

Once, I came across a question online: why do people dislike bitter things? I’m no philosopher, but I answered, bitterness feels unspoiled, raw, and pure. Black tea, black coffee, dark chocolate, they’re bitter, perhaps because they remain untouched, in their truest form. Yet, people often crave sweetness instead, something softer, easier to love. Perhaps that’s why he left. My love, like black tea, was too pure, too unfiltered, too bitter for him to savor. But I, a devotee of black tea, embraced his love as it was, both the sweetness and the flaws. I took it all in, and perhaps that’s what left me standing here, alone. Still, I wait, sipping my black tea, its bittersweetness my only companion, hoping he’ll return someday.
Read more