Just… this.
This almost-friendship. This undefined middle where nothing can be expected yet everything is still felt.
Because who are you?
My friend?
Friends don’t make silence feel heavy.. personal.
And yet how can I desire more?
So I file us under “acquaintance” like a technicality. Like a way to make my reaching out sound smaller, more reasonable, less embarrassing.
And.
Even there, I dislike that I am still the one who reaches. And I wonder whether it isn’t normal. Sure friendships ebb. And people get busy. Not everything is a big deal.
Yet.
It keeps feeling like this.
Because especially in friendship, there is a rhythm. A returning. A mutual remembering.
Isn’t friendship supposed to be the highest of all human connections?
So why with us does it feel like I am the memory keeper. The one who circles back. The one who makes sure this friendship does not quietly dissolve.
And I don’t know what’s most crass.. that I care enough to maintain this, or that you don’t seem to notice when I don’t. Oh how I dislike how undefined gives you room.
Room to be thoughtful when I text, and absent when I don’t. Room to respond without ever initiating. Room to exist in my life without ever having to claim a place in it.
Yet I hold this space, this careful, breathable space where I can still reach for you without reciprocation.
Call it friendship.
Call it nothing.
Call it whatever makes it easier to press send.
