Of Losing

Dear Friend,

Why do you feel so distant? This is one thing about friendships, or in fact, any human relationship, that bothers me. Drifting apart. I suppose change is not something anyone fancies, and that it is an inevitable part of life. I strongly believe that we, as human beings, are a culmination of each moment in our lives. Every moment, every experience, every second counts, and just like Legos fitting into each other, each bit locks in and forms the person you are at the very instant you’re reading this. Perhaps that’s why change is an issue we grapple with. Instantaneously, it is small, and almost negligible, illegible and tinier than a fleck of dust. However, you let it build up, and somehow, the result is greater than the sum of its constituents. Strange isn’t it?

 I suppose the inevitability of it all would mean that I shouldn’t be bothered by it, yet I am. Logic, deduction, and all the advancements our civilization has made to harness the powers of the cresses of our brain folding, layer upon layer, has never been able to push us away from our quest of curiosity. Be it death, or change, or anything else, we always struggle with the inevitable, and all I can do is assume that it is okay that we do.

 I miss you. I really do. I know it isn’t something I should be complaining of. This state of self-awareness, or rather semblances of it should help right? Knowing that you’ll change, or I’ll change or we’ll change, and that will affect our friendship should numb the pain. But yet, it doesn’t. In fact, it adds to it. It’s one of those classic situations where you ponder whether you put to good use the knowledge you possessed. If I knew things would change, why didn’t I accommodate them?

 Well, I guess change is fast, and slow, and sudden, and gradual, and all of the other possible antithetical things it can be. That’s what makes inevitable things worse than anything else. Their duality makes it extremely difficult to cope with, don’t you think so? Maybe we haven’t evolved as homo sapiens to deal with it. Maybe we have, and I haven’t. I don’t want to lose you. I really don’t. But somehow, it feels like I am on the path that I will. You know one those stories, where you want the journey to go on, because you know where and what the destination is, and you simply do not want to reach it? This feels like one of those situations. Perhaps, I am to be blamed to an extent, that I wasn’t able to grow with your changes, but is that a good enough reason to take this deduction to its logical conclusion? I don’t think so.

 We did not talk last night. I saw you standing alone in the room, away from the crowd. I saw you across the room, and spoke to you for the first time in weeks. You seemed bothered, but you didn’t want to talk, and I left it at that. I am worried this is what it will be. That you’ll be down and out, and I’ll have to let you be that way, because I have somehow distanced myself, or you have distanced me enough to actually not intervene. That is not something I can stand for, and I won’t. To everyone out there who’s considering giving up, be it a familial relationship, your lover, your friend, anyone, don’t. Do not give up. The answer to the question, on those nights of doubt, when you find yourself up at 5 in the morning, wondering whether this is a thread you should cut, the answer is always no. No, do not sever that connection. It is not okay to let go. Fight back. Fight the inevitable, because that’s what makes us human. That’s what makes us who we are. We think with our heart and we feel with our mind. We have spent thousands of years moving towards rationality, and logic, and thinking, and developing our minds. Well guess what, the heart is a delicate little organ you have which when it comes to its own, will override all of this. I am not going to let you go. I’ll talk to you. Maybe today, maybe in a couple of days, or weeks, I don’t know. But I am not ready to, nor will I say goodbye. When you find someone worth holding on to, you do, and you just don’t let them go.

 I wrote this without crying, but now I feel like I should. Out of happiness. That I live in a world, where I can, perhaps not with pride, but with a smile on my face, say that I am happy that I feel things. That I can feel things. That I can thankfully look beyond what my mind tells me as well. That sometimes, you just need to trust your gut. That sometimes, you see a bus, and you have a meeting, and a dinner, and it is clear, sunny weather, but you still get on that bus taking you hundreds of miles away, and that’s perfectly okay.