And none will hear the postman’s knock
Without a quickening of the heart.
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?
Friendship gone sparkles …
The coffee has a strange taste today and the drops of milk are heavy, with burden. I could add a spoon of sugar, but I’m not sure if a fake sweetness is what I need right now and I keep on forgetting to add ‘honey’ on my supermarket list. There is an apple and cinnamon scented candle that wouldn’t leave the smell of the cigarettes lying in the ash-tray to make an appearance, but that only reminds me of a lost friendship thrown in the bin together with melted wax and used match sticks.
We were four of us once, soul-mates / were we really?/, and there was a time when I didn’t need to share my heart in letters to a stranger like you, but that was more than 700 coffees ago. I asked myself the other day what went wrong? How did I come to the day when I realized that in friendship only giving is not enough, that there is something in return that we all need? Gratitude! Gratitude for being there, for listening, for accepting even if not understanding, for making a happy face out of a broken heart…
It was a sunny day in October, perfect for walking by a river, suitable for sacrificing dried flowers in the name of a lost love; but instead we murdered instantly the goddess of hope and we rolled down to the 9th circle of Hell, to the point of no return. I never thought a sunset can look that ugly, grotesque leftover rays pointing at the hidden anger of the weak amongst us, at the cowardice of the silent witnesses who never dared to speak up, unless it was in their favor. Deep breaths overruled by a fiasco of a lifetime!
It’s strange that only today with the taste of strange coffee and the bracelet that I wear in red and white I saw in my memories how bloody the shadows of the sun were that day, lighting over the statue of a lonely musician and his song was no longer a reflection of a melody, but selfishness sinking into our actions. And we, we all wore the crowns of fools, saying ‘Cheese’ in from of the camera for a last time.
I left the old town with the river and the ancient theater in a hurry, leaving behind untaken pictures, unlived moments, unfulfilled conversations and I promised myself that I will never look back, that I will never grief over the non-existent explanation on how a friendship can go sparkles, while there was an army of stars ready to smile on the sky. But here I am, writing to a stranger, searching comfort that only a friend can give me.
The moment when you’ve realized that you haven’t been considered a friend when you were a friend for a half of a lifetime, nevertheless, that you were never good enough to be rewarded with a gratitude, is as scary as this moment when I am about to seal my thoughts in an envelope and address them to you, with the hope that you will answer and your answers will heal the past. It’s scary that I worship the words, not the words of friends but the words of travelers … and strangers, like you, they may seem, but only when the miles of the distance scream ..
© 2012 Broken Sparkles