Ink, Paper, and Hearts

Ink, Paper, and Hearts

Day 27 – Friendship 

She once told me she was a reincarnation of Anna Frank. It sounded trivial, I thought she was just building her life around an exemplary figure that she modeled. She was inquisitive and interrogative of speculative figures that have existed throughout the strings of time. I thought she was just admiring. Posthumously, her friend made me know more about her.

She wrote in her diary…

Friendship is something I’ve tried to understand. Unlike marriage, friendship doesn’t place its linkage on a bond sealed with an oath or covenant. There are zero incentives to keep up the commitment.

My life has been a ragbag of disorderliness. I first confided in family but family went away, then I confided in neighbors but they seem to care less about outsiders. Friends were the next set of people on my list that I had to seek closure. The kind of fall out and disappointment you have from friendship slowly dismantles your fortitude from any ties to faith. I came to understand that a friend will live to love somebody else above you and in the end, even siblings are not obligated to each other.

Pain is something I then formed a friendship with, I wanted to see if I could define feelings and re-channel them to my advantage, I detached myself from every mortal being to subscribe the bitterness of loneliness, solitariness, and desolation. The pain wasn’t something that stayed forever; even though I got lust from every ounce of pain I felt, it soon vanished. Nothing was hurting me any longer.

This ink seems inexhaustible…
A person ensuingly bleeds due to the adversities in their lifetime…just like the heart, you can never quantify the amount of blood that will be pumped throughout the mainstream of a person’s anatomical system.

Me scrambling expressions on this paper…
Just like who a friend is supposed to be – an embodiment of the painful expressions we harbor – as a shelter for our needless and significant cries.

Me being here with my pen…
A friend is always there. If a friend can’t surmount the heap of troubles at that moment in time. A friend gives you the chance of being able to speak up. Some call it a listening ear.

Have I been with my friend the whole time but rather didn’t perceive it? Am I rather amidst a set of people who are seen as shackled by the writer’s curse?
They say the writer never finds true bonds with people, but bonding isn’t something that is predetermined by the size. A bond is weighed on the series of outcome that is derived from it. Bonding itself is inanimate, only the trustees of such coherence can relate to it.
If so, my life may have not been a failure after all. I found true friendship at the depths of impossibility. It doesn’t matter how you live but rather how you die. I found true friendship within my paper, ink, and heart. Before I died.

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