Genuine friendships are hard to come by,
too often surrounded by transparent men,
who seek for their own benefit,
who step in your steps, match your shadows, just to be liked,
the same goes for you, same as them, you are,
unable to unveil your true face,
and then you’re stuck playing a character,
as the other person falls in love with the facade,
ballroom dancing, they trying to know you,
you trying to show them what they want to see,
the space in between filled with an air of falsity,
you can taste it, they can taste it, for both know what is happening, for both have done it to others,
but we need each other,
so the waltz continues,
comrades willing to be whatever.
I sit alone at the edge of the universe,
vast, empty, unfulfilled,
describing it or myself,
thinking of understanding the thing that breathes in this solitude,
so it can draw slow, comfortable, knowing breaths,
rather than the foreign ones it does now,
so that a mask is never needed,
so that the next touch is genuine,
so that the next conversation dances in truth,
so that the friendship blossoms without shade to hinder it.
Limping,
smelling,
half-blind,
half-crazed,
the dog comes and lays down beside me,
warmth and love of yesteryears firm in its aging body,
true it is to itself,
true it is towards me,
its snores have stayed the same,
the feeling it elicits has stayed the same,
genuine is it’s friendship,
genuine is it’s love,
for it is willing to forgive,
caring only about companionship,
regardless of the flaws,
all these years, it has been teaching me how to be a friend.
Learned Living 