trespassing

I envy some of my friends who wear camaraderie like a scarf: warmly, with a suggested fondness, and most of all, an unintended overlap of proximities. They fit the same profile: always light-hearted, in both they are unburdened, and in the attraction of other hearts lured by the light of their own. I've noticed they also style themselves in ragged shades of their own sudden vulnerabilities. And I think it is this unashamed truth of their own weaknesses, this tolerance for their all-too-real humanity, that reinforces the perceivable solace of their company, and the ease of their understanding, and ultimately, forgiveness.

Instead, I wear my friendship like a brooch: vagrant and adventurous, but always sparkling in novelty. I have no qualms trying something new or meeting someone new. There is adventure there and life should be filled with those. Except, when the occasion demands other requirements, when circumstances arrange themselves favorably towards our separation, friend and mine, I confess I grieve less than others. Worn after a fashion, seasonal, and I hold no grudges. But each one is special to me, kept in the dark, comfy, suede boxes. Hidden, but never forgotten. And at the turn of fate, sparkling in the light once more.

This is business embodied in personal relations, and I thought it was of the proper conduct. People, in their individuality, are commodities that I have no right to hoard. They have their own lives, own passions to burn out, to consume, and I should simply count myself lucky whenever their lives overlap mine. And in those temporary segments, when our lifelines converge, cross and intertwine for a time, I offer myself in whole and hope that when they propel themselves onward, in tangent, their momentum was partly mine.

Friendship, in a way, is shared movement. It's like a journey through the perambulating landscape of someone else's continuing story. I find it such an easy task, this befriending, because every meeting for me is like finding a new land to discover, to stumble around in, to learn from. But for true friendship to run its course, it would be better if I became less of the tourist passing through the rolling vistas of my friends' lives, and be more of the interim settler that trespasses, and lives there for a while, experiences the warmth and the seasons, then leaves a part of himself, like a seed of a tree, to add to the perpetually shifting horizon. To leave a lasting memento behind to be remembered by, something lovingly kept, aside from worn scarves and aged brooches.