Those who tell strangers long stories about their friends, and end it with a strong description using the most beautiful words they can think of; are great friends. Those who feel at some point during their middle age years that their friends have disappeared, while they were running after things that has no value now. They feel such pain due to the truth that they don’t have any new thing to tell strangers about their friends.
Tell me who’s able to shorthand their friends in words?
And shortcut all the memories between them in letters?
Ignore all that I’ve written, what’s beautiful than that is that now when felt the need to write about you, about our friendship, and about your big merciful heart; I couldn’t and tears overwhelmed me. That’s because you can’t be a shortcut in a piece of writing no matter how long it continues, and I’m unable to fold the life I’ve shared with you in a book which strangers will read. Strangers who won’t understand how you can be more than a heart, a soul full of joy to me. Now, all that I know well is that you are the remained face of all my past friends, and all the unfinished long talks I told strangers. The truth is that my hand hurts due to how much I’ve written letters trying to tell you that I fear not to have new stories about you; to read to myself some nights when sleeping leaves me to stare at the walls.
The thing is I’m afraid to ask you if you know the face of the real pain, I mean the pain that fills the empty corners in the heart when we the thought of losing one to our close friends to death crosses our minds like a speeding shadow?!
This rainy morning all I want to tell you is that I don’t like spring, rain, snow, and all things that provoke happiness; when you’re not with me. To tell you, “With you, my heart is not an orphan when I’m with you.” So you would smile, and remind me that you’ll always be closer to me than my own shadow. That you have the ability to swipe all the bad things out of my mind, and when life brings sadness to me you will sing happy songs with a loud voice and hold my hand.
I fear to learn the language of silence!
I fear to fade away like the snow when sunrises!
I fear to be isolated without a book!
I fear that one day all the things disappear; except me.
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