An Ark Full of Nobody.
There’s a sweet taste born in bonds, if it ever reaches one.
My native language apparently does not have the casual expression for people in-between ‘friends’ and ‘strangers’. English has ‘acquaintances’, Dutch has ‘bekenden’, and Icelandic has ‘kunningi’. In my culture, as soon as you’re acquainted to someone, they are by default, a friend. For the most part, I lack the ability to distinguish a friend from racks of familiar faces, the lines that separated them were drowned in the absence of words.
So I look elsewhere, I look into an entirely new realm when at this stage, people do not look for a friend, instead they are looking for networks. Do you know how it feels like being another dot to be connected? I genuinely hope you say no.
People always feel torn between the things you have to fight for and the things you should let go. Here’s a little rule of thumb: you fight for your achievements and ambitions, be it job promotion or good grades; and you let people go. People are designed to come and go, you were fading in and out of people’s lives as much as they did in yours.
This is a letter to the people I almost befriend, future potential mates, and everything in-between that is within arm’s length. This is both of our faults.
Dear acquaintances,
You and I are a parallel line. Going in a straight line owing to our idealistic views. I closed the door that I used to open so widely to spare my own ache. My heart is a torn out garden surrounded by a transparent wall stretching miles until it drowned in the seas.
You and I are mumbled words said by a politician. One of us wants to cut through the chase and be friends. One of us were caged in the human enigma that making friends never came out of nothing. One of us blamed the universe for not making the train left simultaneously.
You and I are the relationship I wish I had. I don’t make a lot of friends and I blame it on myself for not letting people in. I blame it on myself for blaming others claiming they should’ve tried harder. I blame it on myself for not doing shit about it and instead reserve myself in sad poems.
You and I are the memory I already see fading in five years. A talk archived in the net and revisited for formalities. An exchanged ideas owed to our own curiosity for something trivial and episodical. A dry and emotionless tear we tried to hide as we part ways because there were no justification for it in the slightest.
You and I, are what you and I should have never been. Acquainted as it may be, acquainted as we should be.
There’s a sweet taste born in bonds, but did I tell you I was diabetic?
