Friendship

I was pressured, if I can say so, to write something that doesn’t have much importance to the world, something simple, something easy and yet I find it extremely difficult. I thought to myself if I am capable of doing this. I don’t think myself capable to, but still I’m writing these lines, not as fast as I wrote the others, but I am. That must mean something, though. I thought of a variety of subjects and chose one that was closer to heart, that many others.
Friendship.

In my life I had many friends. Most of them turned out to be something that I did not expected or turned their backs on me when I most needed them there and so I learned to do things by myself, to live for myself. Some of them hurt me; others never took me for granted and with some, even if I see them occasionally, I barely talk to them, unless I have reasons and I see them as someone who meant something for me in the past, but has no importance for me at this point in life. But I’m not writing this to talk about them. They’re not important.

This is about Corinne.
I met her three years ago when I changed school. She had been the first one I knew from that class. Even if we weren’t sitting at the same desk, or weren’t spending all breaks together at that point, we got along rather good. We always used to take the same bus to get home, since we live close to each other and she soon became my only friend from school. Two years ago she changed school, but, fortunately, we remained good friends. I somehow ended up needing her as a friend. That is something that had never happened to me before. Even though we weren’t in the same school anymore we saw each other everyday. She slept at my place many times and I slept at her place the equal amount of times.

We grew very close and we could talk about anything while listening to some random songs on my computer and holding hands. I think we could exchange words forever and never tire of it. Somehow even if what she has to say isn’t that important to me, I listen and nod and laugh and scream of joy when I have to, when I see a certain reaction in her smile or in her eyes. Sometimes I don’t even listen to what she says and just look at her. Seeing the way she smiles when she ends a sentence that isn’t supposed to make me laugh or anything else, or when she complains in the mirror while trying to get her hair to stay straight, or when she doesn’t agree with something that I say. She doesn’t contradict me, she just changes her expression ever so slightly and that is all I need to understand that her opinion is different.

We also tend to stay for minutes at a time, long minutes at a time, in silence and I usually hate silence when I’m not alone. I usually have the feeling that I have to say something, because I don’t welcome silence. Well, with her it’s another story. At times I have the feeling that even if we’re not talking we still have some sort of connection, stronger and bigger than words. It’s like we don’t have to talk, to communicate, if that makes any sense at all.

This post however, was supposed to contain the opinions of other people about me. Of those people that mean something to me. I will put it at the end of this post, or I’ll just make another one, but those opinions will appear here. The reason for my change of plan is that her opinion simply means the most to me. She wrote what she honestly thinks about me and she wrote the truth:

“Honestly, even if sometimes you are cad and mean and things end up to be only the way you want them to be, it doesn’t really bother me that much. I like you the way you are. You are the only person I know for a short period of time and understand so well. Hope you like it. Love you!”

It’s not a philosopher’s note, nor that of a poet. She wrote it exactly how she felt it and even if, dear reader, you won’t understand a thing from it, this note means to me more than anything that had been written from my own hand.

Last night I got to realize just how much she means to me. She can calm me down when I’m about to burst out screaming of fury. She can make me understand why I have to do the things I don’t like. She can keep me on leach, for if it weren’t for her I don’t even want to think how my life would have been by now.

And even though she is everything that I want and need, she doesn’t understand all the things that I see in her because she can not see them. All that innocence and passion; the whit and the foolishness; the calm and the angriness. All of it makes her what she is and she can’t see what I like about her.