I have this friend. He's a hedgehog. His hide is full of knives and he doesn't even know it. I've introduced people to him and they've walked away with fresh gouges. I'm starting to think I should stop doing that.
Trees evolve to grow taller because in the forest only the tallest trees, the ones which reach the canopy, ever see sunlight. The smaller ones go parasitic or die out. I'm more like a willow. Halfway through the race I decided it was a stupid arrangement and called quits, yet did not surrender my will to live. Because I loathe fighting. I don't like talking in loud places because I loathe raising my voice. And thus am out of practice.
But I can't live like this. I need a land to call my own, even if it is a wasteland. I need a light to call my own, even if it is cold and harsh and strange. I need a friend to call my own even if it is no one. I need a voice even if it is dead silence.
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4 comments:
I know what you mean, dude. It's a big question.
I had more or less "stepped out of the race" myself. That was my default position until, say, two years ago.
Then I decided that between stepping out of the race and surrendering my will to live, there was a slippery slope.
"I need a friend to call my own even if it is no one."
What does this mean? What good is a non-existent friend?
Mixed Metaphors Follow Mixed Drinks. Har har. I think that last paragraph is a song. Your emo deep contradictions song. I would pump my fist righteously yet sadly to it if you sang it in concert.
Those are some delicious metaphors, sir. I adore it when people can break out of "her blue eyes were like the ocean" and so forth.
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