If only I had a nickel for every time I had fun with an old
friend!
I’m not saying that my new friends aren’t fun. They are. But
there is this exhilaration I feel when meeting old friends, that sends me
smiling home...every time. I replay the evening/afternoon/weekend with them in
my head repeatedly, I smile to myself, and I wish I could repeat it again and
again.
And it is then that I am glad to be the kind of person who
holds onto things. I am glad I hadn’t ‘moved on’ so much as to make them
strangers. I am happy that the first thing that they say to me is; “oh you
haven’t changed a bit”. The day passes and they don’t change their mind.
There is comfort in knowing that somethings remain the same.
There is a joy in knowing that while your life may have turned on its head, a
part of it lives on with these people. That your history never quite gets erased.
Its my own version of immortality.
Its also my way of keeping young. They take me back to a
younger me. Not a simpler time, or a less complicated me. Just a younger me. One
whom I still love, but am unable to be. These old friends are able to see ‘that’ me inside of me.
And for that I remain eternally grateful.