It’s frightening to think how fast we’ve all grown.
Grown up and apart, it’s frightening to think that we’ve all had a choice.
To grow up or back track.
You’re mom died. And I couldn’t understand why or how but I wanted to hold you so close to me, to take any pain from you and suck it all into my blood stream.
But I couldn’t.
You we’re so present in my younger years but inevitably we grew apart as I grew up and you back tracked. Some how now we’re the same age.
I’ve been afraid for so long that you would misunderstand my fear of close friends and mistake me as a flake. I promise, I love you.
I remember during band practice, I would curl up in your bass drum case and have you zip the lid so I could hide while the world was collapsing all around us. Sometimes, I couldn’t see straight, and you never judged me for it.
And now as I’ve grow to manage my self-hate and anxious behaviors, I’ve walked down a path of unknown faces, keeping as far away from others heart beats as possible. It’s just too loud for me.
If there’s anything I could say to take the edge off, I’d tell you not to be afraid. I’d tell you to put that bottle down and balance yourself steady on that tight rope; God knows it’s a long long way down.
And if you were to fall, I would know and I would be standing beneath to catch you if you’d let me.
But I’m afraid my social anxiety has shown that I’ve never been the best friend you’ve needed.
If there was something I could do to show you I love you, it would be to give you space. My scarred arms are open for you when you’re ready; I understand pain. I would understand your pain.
Someone once told me that I’ve lived on this earth before, many many times because I’m too old for my age. I’m drained from past experiences I don’t even recall.
But I don’t believe in reincarnation, and I don’t believe in being enlightened by living over and over again until you get it right.
I believe we have one chance to make it right.
And I also believe I have failed one too many times.