It’s the night before the end of winter vacation. I’m holding onto the last vestiges of depth and emotion before the 9-5 grind zaps away all the restless energy I have. This is the last time I won’t be exhausted.
I think it’s interesting to reflect on the number of people who have come in and out of one’s life — some are important for a moment, some are important for years. Oftentimes, that feeling of importance is not mutual.
I think there’s a very particular brand of friendship that I rarely think about. There’s plenty of people that I’ve come across that I know care about me. If I could just return the care… If I could just really unfilter myself, then I would’ve had a friend for life.
But something is missing. Some essential chemistry, some unspoken bond isn’t there. So I slink away over time, chasing someone that feels better.
And yet, I lament how few the number of people who care about me is.
We’re always attracted to a certain kind of person, it just so happens that the kinds of people that I am attracted to seem to be people I have a lot of talkative chemistry with — I want to talk for hours and hours, even if they don’t care about whether I live or die.
It seems really rare to find both in one person, someone I like and actively want to hang out with, and someone who would actually put some effort if I was suffering.
I don’t know, I’d rather just keep having people come in and out of my life — some entering for chemistry reasons, some exiting because of a lack of chemistry.
I’d rather not hold onto this idea of long, caring relationships. It just seems like a fallacy for people who are nicer than I am. It seems like a good path for people who are actually likable as their unfiltered selves.
I’d rather just have brief, fleeting moments with dozens, hundreds of people whose numbers I prune come every new year.