Love Letters #22

Dear Pip,

Penelope.

Penny.

Pip, I have known you for approximately six years. And forty seven days. And three and a half hours (at the time of writing this).

We met the day I met with my fate. My fate was you, of course. Didn’t you know?

We were both looking at the same teapot. It was yellow and had blue spots on and I remember thinking you had to be a certain kind of person with a certain kind of taste to like such a teapot because let me tell you, it was hideous.

But there was only one of them left and you said, ‘Oh, you have it.’

And I said, ‘Please, no, you have it.’ Because I didn’t even want it in the first place.

And you said, ‘Oh, no, I was only looking. You have it.’

And I said, ‘I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I took it when a young lady has her eye on it. It would be daylight robbery.’

And you snorted and said, ‘Well how about we halfsies it and then share it.’

‘What, like, monthly swaps?’ I asked, ‘or shall we cut it in half?’

‘Sure.’ You were nonchalant. Casual. You even shrugged and that is when I noticed the apple green jacket you are wearing. It was hideous also. (Please don’t hate me. We have discussed the ways colours are worn. And apple green blazers were out of the question. I even made a graph. Please see attached piece of paper for reference.)

‘Well,’ I said very carefully, ‘that then means, of course, that we shall have to swap details.’

‘Let’s buy this thing.’ You picked it up gently and as I reached into my pocket to take out my wallet my elbow jerked yours and it slipped out of your hands and fell down, down down onto the brightly polished John Lewis floors.

We both stared at it.

‘Ah well,’ you said, ‘I was only looking at it because I was curious about something so ugly. Good riddance, I say! I’m Pip. What’s your name?’

I stared at you in pleasant surprise and I felt my lips stretching out my face of their own accord.

‘James.’ I said, and then, ‘let us look for more ugly teapots.’

Of course we had to pay for that ugly yellow polka dot tea pot. It was atrocious. And then for your birthday present a year later I got you a similar teapot which you use for your indoor geraniums. It was from John Lewis and you killed yourself laughing at it and told me I was a money waster because there was no way you would use that for anybody. It could never grace your table.

I remember asking you all wounded, like, ‘What, not even for the reason that it was graced by my hands?’ I was also slightly flirting even though we were firm friends by then, but I could not resist. I can never resist you, Pip.

‘Nope.’ You were very firm.

I am writing to tell you that I want to marry you. I can’t say it to your face because you have beautiful eyes and I know exactly how they will look at me and I will not be able to help myself because I will kiss you and then I will be done for. I know you will be impatient with that and tell me that is nonsense and of course I can help myself but I will not want to. Help myself. At all.

Also I asked my aunt if she read those French books I gave her and she said yes, they were lovely books. You were right. She didn’t read them. Else she would have called me to lecture me horrendously about them. Lovely books indeed. She asks about you a lot and tells me I should marry you quicktimes before you grow too old to have kids.

So back to my fate. You are my fate either way. If you say yes then it will have been a good fate and if you say no I will be broken hearted forever and when I do eventually heal and marry somebody for realsies I will still remember you as the first ever woman who broke my heart.

You know love is a strange thing. So strange. I used to think I loved a woman before. I was seventeen. She wasn’t particularly beautiful but I was infatuated by her and loved her to pieces but she always treated me badly. And one day she went too far and I discovered she was sleeping with a right old tramp of a fellow, but I forgave her. Well I told her I did but I don’t think I really did. Something inside of me snapped that day. She walked on me one too many times. And three miserable months of forced smiles and fake kisses later I met you and the day afterwards she wanted to see me and I called her and I said, ‘I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.’

And when I was with her I thought there could never be anyone else because she was my first love. But it was meagre and ridiculous and pathetic and also desperate. Compared to what I feel about you. I am crazy about you. I look at you and I see my future. And I want to spend all my time with you and walk home from work with you and call you every single day but I stop myself because I don’t want you to get sick of me. I also want to kiss your forehead. It is so gentle and smooth and beautiful.

But see, if we were married I could call you everyday and it wouldn’t be weird, right? I could also kiss your forehead and it would be comfortable.

So, what do you say, Pip?

Yours sincerely and faithfully and truly (scrumptious),

Jim

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Reflection People

So once I had a dream that there were two of us. I mean two of me and two of you.

Hey that’s interesting.

Yeah. It was weird. Like we had parallel lives in the same houses and we just accepted that there were two of us. Like you would say, ‘oh the other me went to the shops today. I’m so glad she did because I really needed knickers.’

The two me’s share knickers? That’s weird.

Well not really when you think about it because it is you, just another you. You’re the same, though. Same person.

How can we be the same person if we are two different people?

Think of it this way, imagine your reflection stepped out of your mirror.

That would be awful.

Hear me out okay? She stepped out of your mirror and then she started just being you but in a non threatening way. She just did the things you didn’t like doing, like, I dunno, buying knickers..

I love buying knickers. They are so pretty. I want to buy my own knickers.

OK, ok, how about taking the bins out or cleaning the litter tray?

Yes, that stuff.

And going to work for you when you really don’t want to and doing your taxes and all that. And she doesn’t complain because she is YOU, just the reflection version. So you are still doing all of that only now you have double the man power and double the brain power and double the hair and nails and feet and fingers. So, really, you would be at an advantage. Imagine cooking dinner, you could just relax and read a book and you could also chop onions and fry vegetables.

What about if the reflection turned against me?

Hmmm, yes. That could be a possibility. You have a real whole functioning brain that is pretty much a spare brain so why WOULDN’T you want to become your own separate person?

Exactly.

Well, I must think about that and get back to you.

Can’t wait to hear about it.

Ok. See you tomorrow.

Same place?

Same place.

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On Suspicion and Trust

I don’t trust people because when I do make that mistake I am usually disappointed.

Maybe it is that I don’t know who to trust, and can’t suss out a person well enough before I make the mistake of trusting them. Or maybe it is just that I have not yet met a decent person who I can fully trust yet.

Once a personal secret exits my mouth, I know it is no longer in my hands. I have no control over the dung tornado that might take place and I cannot handle not being in control of my own personal business.

So I am suspicious of everybody and I trust a minuscule amount of people.

I don’t even trust certain young ladies who I have known for nigh on sixteen years now.

Also, side thought, wow. I can say I have known somebody for sixteen years. Can you believe that? It wasn’t so long ago that I myself had only been walking this planet for sixteen years. Where have six years gone!?

I am not sure why this is. I have certainly been betrayed in the past. I have moved around quite a lot and lived in three different countries because of my father’s line of work. Also I find it disconcerting when I have confided in somebody for them to constantly bring up my private business when they have no business doing that. It is ill mannered and downright rude. Also it makes me realise that they are petty people who cannot behave like adults even though they have been for quite some time.

Do you have problems trusting a lot of people?

My issue with trust has meant that I have more acquaintances than friends, because I am afraid of divulging too much information about myself. Also, in this city that I live in, news gets around surprisingly fast. The other day a stranger walked up to me and knew my name and asked me how did it feel to be married so young and was my marriage doing okay?

I didn’t know this busybody of a woman. Nor did I care to. Also I have been married two years now (almost three) and it is getting SO DAMN TIRING hearing people I don’t know very well asking the same old question over and over again.

‘How is married life?’

That question puts my teeth on edge and makes me want to scream. It makes me so irrationally angry!

‘Sorry, do I know you?’ I said to the lady, as politely as I could. Apparently her husband’s cousin works with me, and she used to be my mother in law’s neighbour. Well, I told her it was fine then excused myself and walked on.

You see? People are nosy and not to be trusted. I mean, if she knows me, could she not have introduced herself and spoken about something else? Also, I see her at work now and all she does is ask nosy questions about my marriage and when I am planning on having kids and whether or not I have had any problems yet.

Well. It is not all salt and vinegar. There are some very lovely, loyal, trustworthy people about who I can completely trust and who would never ever betray that trust. And they are certainly worth holding on to.

Fake It Till You Make It.

Marriage is hard, folks.

Very hard indeed.

I have reached a hard rocky point, where insecurity and instability are at its peak, and it just looks so bleak. And it is very confusing to navigate, and how does one make the other understand, and how does the other understand one, and how does one love the other like before, whilst being so deeply frustrated and saddened by one.

Men are strange creatures, that is what.

And women are fools to their emotions and fantasies.

Marriage is not a dream boat. I think we all know that.

I am just trying to navigate these treacherous waters.

We all want to be happy in the end, I suppose.

Right now I am supposed to be gloriously happy but I am severely miserable. But I am going to fake my happiness until it comes to me of its own accord, because sometimes in life you have to smile your tears away and learn how to be savvy – in order to save your sanity and hold your relationship together.

But oh, it is hard. So so hard. I have to hug and kiss when my insides are furious and hurt and sad – but I have to because I love this frustrating man so much. I just need to figure out a way to deal with all of this insecurity.

How on EARTH does my mother do it?! Kudos to that emotionally strong woman, that’s what. I am realising now things I could never have envisioned before.

 

Under My Skin

I’m not busy, I swear. Not anymore, at any rate. Not since the 14th of June. Most days I spend doing nothing. So why is it that I can’t call my friends or reply to anybody’s messages?

It’s not that I don’t want to. I really do. Throughout my day I harbour things I want to tell them, storing them away in the drawer of my mind specially reserved for little funny tidbits and anecdotes.

I pick up my phone to call them, but then I get distracted by something outside the window, or by dinner that needs to be cooked, or by somebody wanting something, or just by my own idle thoughts.

Bit by bit my communication with the world grows weaker.

When the EU referendum happened I wanted to call somebody and have a moan about it, but I couldn’t because firstly, I’m not even in the country so charges will apply, and secondly because I just. couldn’t. do. it.

At first my excuse was ‘I’ve too much work.’ And I honestly did. I was snowed under. Now I am not snowed under and I still can’t muster up the motivation and will to rekindle friendships. I am so sorry. What is wrong with me.

Daily life in Morocco is monotonous. Especially for the poor. It involves drudgery and cooking and cleaning and minding children. At least, that is what I have seen. I have yet to see other things, but it has opened my eyes.

Some days I am bored out of my skull. But I know it can’t all be jolly and sight-see-y and fun. It’s two weeks. It’s not exactly a holiday. I was never meant to be. I am happy, just a little itchy to get home now.

And this lack of motivation to be social. I can chatter away to any Moroccan as long as it doesn’t get personal and doesn’t form a friendship. With my friends I am struggling so hard. Like swimming through treacle. It never used to be like this. I am so tired.

Does anybody else ever feel that way?

Peanut Butter Burger

Well, my exam went well. As well as it could, under the circumstances. What circumstances?

Oh, you know, the ones where I didn’t study Wordsworth.

Out of all the poets, his were the ones I had to dissect in my exam.

Out of all the authors/poets I have studied on this course, and begrudged slightly, he was the only one who could not redeem himself after extensive study. Well, Wordsworth, I am glad our journey  together is over. I would wish you well, but you’re dead. So rest in peace, and no, I can’t forgive you for being the cause of my literary misery.

I also drove that girl home. You know, the one I met the other day. We didn’t talk about her relatives this time. We talked about our course, our exam, and our summer plans. It was actually really enjoyable. I even got her to laugh, by lapsing into my regular self by accident and doing a silly impression. Then we sat in the car outside her house chatting for fifteen minutes. The socially awkward human inside me kept willing her to get out and go home, so I sort of zoned out a little. ANYWAY. Anyway.

Went with the husband to see X-Men, Apocalypse. Even though I haven’t seen any X-Mens before. He really wanted to go. Even though he was dead tired.

‘Why,’ he said, ‘don’t we celebrate your first day of freedom, eh?’

‘Why,’ he said, ‘are you so uptight and old?’

‘Because,’ I replied, ‘I am worried about you getting up early after this long night and having to drive two hours to work.’

We did it anyway. Then we went and had special burgers. Mine had crunchy peanut butter on a home-made beef patty with fried bananas on top. It was very tasty. The vegetarian in me died, of course. She did not last more than a week.

That was delicious. 10/10. Now I am worried my husband has to drive really early to work tomorrow after this long ass day.

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Kyle Fewell

 

 

Love Letters #9

She didn’t know Enigma Boy.

He was tall and had long legs which he would stretch out over the aisle, and she would have to carefully step over them when she came late to her lectures. Sometimes he would notice and pull them back quickly, looking up at her with these deep green eyes, murmuring a ‘sorry’ in an accent she could not place.

At first, she would see him around the library sometimes, or sitting in the cafeteria with that other boy he was always with. With the snub nose and the toned arms. But it was only him she had the eyes for.

His complexion, she remembered thinking, was healthy. Cheeks that were a beautiful combination of reddened brown, the result of a lot of healthy sunshine and clean air. Thick dark hair that fell over his face just a little, just so, and he was always perfectly dressed.

She wasn’t. Perfectly dressed. Ever. She wore black jeans every day and alternated between three grey tops, over which she would shrug on her black hoodie and if it was cold, her dark green trench coat. Same black lace up boots, like out of a victorian photograph, and her curly black hair up in a messy bun, always, because she mostly forgot to brush it.

He probably just thought she was a messy person. Maybe he didn’t even notice her. But he talked to her friends, oh he talked to her friends. Maybe because she was too awed by him, that she was frightened to talk to him. She knew she gave off indifferent, moody vibes when she was shy. And she was tremendously shy around him.

Her heart thundered in her ears when he passed her in the corridors, and the notes of his foreign, exotic language were a soft melody in her ears. She could pick his voice out in a crowd.

And anyway, why was she thinking of him like that when she had herself the finest man a girl could wish for. At least, that is what she told herself.

He IS  a fine man.

He wasn’t as handsome as Enigma Boy, that was for sure. And he didn’t have good haircuts, was a little too skinny and smoked legal highs. She spent a fortune on his legal highs, mostly to avoid one of his horrendous tantrums. His ‘ludicrous’ moods. Well, that is what love is, she would sigh to herself, sitting in her lecture, while he was probably out somewhere smoking weed. Love is sacrifice. Love is patience.

And yet, despite all the sacrificing, patient love, this Enigma Boy occupied all her thoughts.

Once she was outside the lecture hall having a naughty smoke. She puffed in and out and closed her eyes and enjoyed the acridity of it, because it made her brain float a little and she needed that. Then she froze, because there he was standing right in front of her, also having a naughty smoke, only he was not puffing, just sucking it into his mouth and blowing it out.

How cute.

She saw him talking to a glamorous girl with red lipstick and thick, straight, glossy hair, both of them smoking, telling the girl that he did not smoke, he just puffed socially. Then he looked up, directly at her, her, and she looked away quickly.

Once he sat right in front of her in the lecture hall. His hair was so neat from the back. And when he shifted in his seat, she smelled him. Tobacco, mint, leather, spice. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep until someone poked her and asked if she was okay.

I’m okay. Oh. I am okay.

Then Enigma Boy turned. Their eyes met. She didn’t know why, perhaps it was out of habit, but she forgot to be shy, and she smiled at him. Not a regular smile that you give to somebody you see daily in your lecture hall. Not a ‘hello, there’ kind of smile, or even a smile of acknowledgement.

It was fully fledged smile, of warmth and comradery and her teeth even showed a little bit, so maybe it was a grin.

Oh, how embarrassing. 

She smiled before she realised what she was doing and by then it was too late. Her heart dropped, thudding pitifully somewhere at the bottom of her ribcage.

Ouch.

To her surprise, he smiled back. A wide, friendly smile. Not a stranger smiling out of courtesy, but a smile as though perhaps they had known each other all their lives.

Warmth bubbled up gently in her chest, and she averted her eyes back to the projector screen in front of them, pretending like she was listening aptly, when really she was graining that smile to her memory, burning it into her retina. Those green, green eyes. That wonderfully tanned face, with features so perfect in their slight imperfection. The way he’d turned, looking at her.

She barely heard the discussion between her friends after the lecture. All she thought about was that smile.

On the last week at university her friends went to have lunch together. He was going, too. Ar first she wanted to say no-no-no-no. But her friends dragged her along, insistent. She ordered a tall glass of vimto, and then he was there sitting next to her asking how her exam went. At first she was fumbly and shaky, her heart an oscillating drill, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, but then her thoughts gathered themselves and soon she was prattling on, sipping her vimto, while he listened and laughed sometimes and then it was his turn to talk.

Into the evening, they talked and laughed and then she was not feeling nervous but happy. Funny. Liked. Listened to. Appraised for the words she spoke, and the thoughts she shared. Not like she had felt in a long, long time. All through the evening and then the fairy lights came on and it was twinkly and summery and four of them wandered back to the bus stop together, Danielle talking about how her engagement went down, glittering her large ring at them. Laughter and happiness floating up into the summer twilight.

That was her last day at university. Last day ever. They didn’t even swap numbers.

Years later, after she had miraculously escaped the malicious grip of her ‘man’, after she had left university and met another gentleman, so kind and sweet and handsome, and married him, she was to remember that green eyed smile. Not for the butterflies it gave her, for that memory could not resuscitate any giddy feelings within her that her husband had not made her feel beforehand, but for the happiness she had felt during and after.

She remembered that smile and thought sadly that perhaps it was not a romantic smile, perhaps it was the smile that might have made for a wonderful friendship.

One can never know.

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What are you like?

Hi, I am shy.

I don’t smile at people.

People think I am ‘indifferent’ or ‘moody’.

I generally am, though.

But when I am not, I don’t smile at anybody anyway. I walk around with a perpetual frown on my face. That is my face when it is resting, and I am thinking about things. Mostly life, mostly what I am going to have for lunch, mostly whether or not my keys are in my pocket.

My ‘moody’ demeanour makes it hard for me to make friends, because its pretty off-putting. Most days I don’t want to make friends, because the general population make me very irritated.

The man who is parking on double yellow making it so I have to wait for the oncoming tide of traffic to wane so I can get past, for example. I gave him a right old glare as I went past. Was it necessary? No. Would it change his attitude toward parking on double yellow? Certainly not.

But it gave me pleasure and so I glared as hard as I could.

I am very good at glaring.

I am also good at being awkward. I say unnecessary things and make unnecessary faces.

Take the other day when I was waiting in the dentist waiting room. The assistant was a girl I knew from college and then uni. We were surprised to see each other.

She smiled so wide at me. That reminded me that I had to smile too.

She was blatantly in uniform, and when she said “Oh I work here now,” I said, without really thinking, because sometimes i faze out when I talk to people, I don’t know why,

“Oh really!?”

Then she tugged at her dark blue scrubs, “Yeah, look at my clothes!”

That was weird. Why did I say that?

I knew she worked there. She even had a name badge.

When the appointment was over, I went to leave.

“Well, thank you so much. See you Wednesday.” I said.

Then she said, “It was lovely to see you, Len.”

I would never have said that.

“It was lovely to see you too.” I told her. And it was.

“How’s married life?” she’d asked me, as I blew my nose loudly in the waiting room.

Ugh. Why do people insist on asking me that? It’s so annoying. I am not defined by my ‘married life’, just because I got married at nineteen.

Now I take to answering people like this;

“Yeah. It’s regular. We wake up and brush our teeth and go to work and school and do life, then go to bed at night. You know, the usual.”

It’s been two years. My life is more than just the ‘married’ aspect of it.

Ask me something interesting, like how is my ocean bream. Or what are my plans for the week. Or what do I think about the current situation. Any situation. I would say I think the bee situation is getting out of hand and they really ought to do something about those rats.

Ask me about my mental stability. I joke. That would be weird.

I will tell you, though, that I secretly think I am insane and might have some kind of disorder, because in my dreams people keep revealing to me that I am autistic.

I mean, that’s ridiculous, but it might have some truth? I am terrible with humans, absolutely terrible.

I never used to be, though. It is really since I left somebody who used to emotionally abuse me and manipulate me. Since I was influenced by him my social life juddered to a rusty old stop and I haven’t been the same since.

I really am such a fool in social situations, and I really don’t want to make any friends, and the friends I do have get on my nerves so badly that I rarely see them, and when I do, I have to force myself to be all nice and say ‘I love you hahaha’ when really I don’t love them. Not a whit.

Oh dear. Who knows. I’m happy, though, the way things are. I think I need to meet people more like me, though. I generally attract folk who aren’t like me at all, which is probably why I struggle to enjoy their company.

Anyway.

What are you like?

On Friendship and Betrayal.

I’m ticked off.

I know, it’s Tuesday morning. Surely I would have more positive things to write about. But no, I’m annoyed, and this is my rant.

So I have a ‘friend’ who I used to be pretty close to up until recently when she stopped returning my calls and texts and was being just plain rude. I didn’t confront her about it because I know she can get lazy with things and plus I secretly knew why.

You see this friend doesn’t like my mother in law or my in laws in general. When she found out I was going to marry D she was incredulous and said, “But isn’t he pious!?”

I admit I laughed in her face because D is anything but pious, not that there is anything wrong with being pious but she knows me and I can’t stand ‘piety’ because ‘piety’ means hypocrisy where we come from. But she didn’t know D like I did, and so was going by what she assumed.

But there you see that’s where it all began. She (let’s call her Madam S) was already judging. She was judging my Significant Other without even knowing him. She reckons my mother in law is judgy and that is why she doesn’t want to associate with her, which is all very well, but now she doesn’t want to associate with me because I am now part of my MIL’s family, so therefore I must be ‘judgy’ by association.

I’m sorry but that just isn’t fair. It’s judgemental to assume somebody is ‘judgy’ without giving that person a chance. She hasn’t given me a single fudging chance. Not one. She assumes things about me, and talks to another ‘friend’ of ours who is also hating on my MIL, about my MIL, and this makes her assume things about me meaning she no longer ‘trusts’ me.

Now my MIL is a lovely, well intentioned lady who always tries to be as good as she can and as kind as she can to others. Sometimes this can be overbearing, and sometimes people can get the wrong end of the stick. I mean, I used to as well. But I’ve lived with her now and I know she only means well. When it gets too much for me I have a little moan and get on with it, because she is my family and the mother of the love of my life. She does care about me, a lot, and is always making sure I am happy and comfortable, which I think is lovely. Others don’t know that, but they are exaggerating things that have happened and are going around saying horrible things which are only falling back on me, because I am now part of that family. Also it is insensitive to talk about others when you really don’t know the full picture. It is inconsiderate and not very wise.

For example when one of our mutual family friends was divorcing her husband, my MIL may have said something along the lines of ‘You should be sure you are making the right decision because of your kids etc’. Now that lady’s daughter is telling Madam S that my MIL ‘blamed’ the divorce on her mother (the lady who is getting divorced). Which isn’t true at all, and a slanderous accusation based on presumption, not fact.

The girls who are saying those things are girls like me, in their twenties; impressionable young ladies who generally like to make mountains out of molehills. Yes, I make mountains out of molehills. I can be selfish sometimes, I can be moany and irritating. I admit it, but I also give people the benefit of the doubt!

Some of them have gone through some rough patches, like parents getting bad divorces and family members having nervous breakdowns, so naturally they will lash out at small things and get the wrong end of the stick.

But this Madam S who used to be one of my best friends is being, I am sorry to say, a little bitch. She KNOWS me. So if she doesn’t want to associate with me purely because of assumption then I am sorry, I have better things to worry about.

I have run after her enough times, suggesting outings for us and inviting her to places and calling her and asking about her health and even telling her a hilarious story about wonky boobs which she replied to but then nothing. Silence. Blank space. Nada. Zilch.

So I am done. I think she needs to grow up.

And if she calls me or texts me you can bet your life I am not replying. I am too hurt, and I think she doesn’t deserve my friendship.

So, dear reader, if you have made it this far, what are your thoughts? Have you had a friend betray you before? How did you deal with it?

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Excuse me, fellow human.

Can I tell you something?

It’s a little secret. Mostly it is a plaguing nightmare.

Are you listening?

Do you care? If not, it’s okay. I am going to say it anyway.

I have no friends.

Yes, you heard right.

It doesn’t make me a sad human. It just makes me feel sad sometimes.

I don’t know how this happened. Once upon a time I was surrounded by friends. We had some great larks. Then physical distance came between us as we all spread over the globe to pursue our own lives and careers.

Acquaintances came and went in my new life.

I’ve been here six years.

Six years and all I made were mistakes and regrets.

So now I am twenty one and a small voice inside my head says,

“But Lenora, you have no friends.”

I do have ‘friends’, if you can call people who you hang out with from time to time that. But I can’t trust these people. I can’t tell them that my heart is ailing and that I fear sometimes for my marriage. I can’t tell them that I feel like I am a failure at 21 because I haven’t achieved the goals I set out to achieve by now. I can be there for them emotionally and listen to them and cheer them up but I can’t cry to them and have their comforting friendly arms and laughs to bring me up again.

I go to their dorms, we have pizza and watch movies, we go shopping together; but I don’t feel like I can fully open to them. Not like before. I can’t have meaningful conversations with them about things that matter because they don’t seem to understand those things. Maybe adult friendships are different? Psssh. No. I know they’re not. A true friend is a true friend, no matter your age.

There.

That’s my secret.

That’s probably an unsocial thought, and one which I am loathe to let go of. But there we go.

What are your thoughts on friendship? Do you think friendships change as you enter adulthood?

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