Apart from the entire premature deterioration of that which I call my life, missing my friends would probably be saddest and most childish branch of it. Not just my friends, but the moment where everything fell into place for a very, very fleeting moment. For one, I am heavily inclined to falling back and wallowing about things that have been the past, so being in this perpetual state right now does not come as a surprise, for anyone. Secondly, my youth wasn't perfect nor was it wild and unimaginable. But it was, to me, perfect enough that for a second there, I literally did not worry about a single thing. I was careless, and free, and happy. That may have been the last time I was happy for longer than just a numerable moment. So yes, I'm inching to twenty-two, and I still get very sad thinking about them. I feel like I was very addicted to them. Or to us. We could all barely go without each other for more than a few hours. All summer that summer, for however many consecutive days, we'd wake up, call each other up, meet up, keep meeting up till we were all absolutely together, be together everywhere we can, split for our family dinners (if that even), then reunite again till the very early hours of morning. I don't remember feeling horrendous about anything, ever. (Not that there weren't bad times, it just proves to me how insignificant and mundane my troubles were because I can't even recall them). I know it's foolish of me. But I'm a stupid fool anyway.
Just the simple gesture of them remembering my birthday makes me...emotional almost. Not almost. Definitely. Birthdays are shit, always. But when my homies go to their way to ask me what I'll be up to, well it's nice. And to assure that they'll be there no matter what, I guess it makes things alright for just a second. I guess I don't know what I'm bitching about. They're great.
