MY FRIENDS ARE A DISTANT MEMORY

white and green wooden house miniature

Source: Pexels by Lisa Fotios

It remains an unrealised truth that, until you sit warmly surrounded by various of your achievements throughout the years, you find yourself reminiscing – not on the struggle of your pride, but what was once a simple day. Days of the past; when things were cheaper and days were clearer. Skipping through the yard of some angry neighbour or saying a thousand goodbyes without leaving because conversations are just too long to fit in. Little do we know that this will become a distant memory of someone we’ll no longer see. We’ll remember their faces vividly, friends we used to call them, yet, we are unable to recognise them now.

The clock’s noise becomes unbearable. What was in that race we took part in years ago? The normal cheering squad missing out on their job. They had their own race to complete. Misery becomes of everyone in that journey. We are not content in any way because we have traded people who brought happiness and a carelessness in to our lives in exchange for more time. More time to get to the end of the line of that dream that has an abundance of joy – which is a mere possibility and not a surety of satisfaction. But we still run. Barefoot, alone, worn out and agonised.

Since we have to run fast or we will be left behind, we are scared to be happy in mediocracy. Someone enjoys playing football. What they don’t enjoy is having to chase an opportunity to play. Life is an unfair ballet, but why must one lose everything to be worthy of a dream?

Why do we fancy a conclusion? Why do relationships become the easiest thing to give up on? Why do we recollect a memory but refuse to live in it? In a blur, it has gone by. The epilogue is: your friends are a distant memory.

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