My text just read, Smile; I haven’t heard your voice, or seen your face in some months.
Your text back said, Needed that today, so I called you, and this is what I found out:
We’re both scared of what the future holds, though I suppose yours is more recent, but
even a year later, you’ve helped me come to terms with where I’ve been, and where I am, and where I’ll go, and if you’ll come with me, either on the campaign trail or being abroad teaching, or selling people houses while studying information technology, but never once forgetting that I’ve always wanted to make those movies. We don’t have to talk for days or weeks, months even, and it’s been almost a year, but when we do, when we finally do, it always goes long, more than sixty minutes. I’ve realized that I missed it, but this time, there’s no subtext; just context, just friendship, and just all the things that I sorely missed like, you laugh at me a lot, whether it be for my driving or that I actually go to the gym, or that we actually have the same stomping grounds, and that we both teared up when they teared it down, and refuse to go back just for fun, and the only time we’d be there is if we were racing, trying to find the fastest route to reconnect among friends who’ve since become much too busy with life, work, homes, and hearts.
Switch gears, and we only talk through email because you don’t have a phone yet, but it’s made me come to terms with the fact that I only belong in your inbox, alongside attached Word documents, and the occasional witty line that you reply to using one word answers in an all lowercase font. You were once the runner up, and sometimes I think you still might be, until I realize how different our backgrounds are, considering I’m a surburban kid not used to skyscrapers, and you’ve moved from sprawling city to city. The truth of the matter is that I wasn’t in your past, and what little I was present, your future will erase that, because I am no longer in college, because I was never the smartest, because I am not booksmart enough about philosophies and mindsets. You deserve someone like-minded, who knows when to open and close his mouthpiece, and not spout scripted dialogue that’s too right-wing/left-wing, but he-won’t-actually-eat-wings. I’ve always been good in moderation, not seen every day, but still be the basis for the butt of all jokes even when making them myself at the expense of others’ nations, even though I’m not a citizen, upstanding or otherwise; I lack globalization.
You were both my toe-to-toe legends, the Ali’s to my Frazier, but the Thrilla in Toronto was a part of another trilogy that didn’t quite deliver on the promises of what I’d hoped it be, but it did give me the two of us, and the two of us, alongside the group later known as the crew of us, so I can’t complain when it gave me everything I wanted that was as close to fame. Every night I drive by the same purple house, but tonight it was bathed in a green light. No significance anymore I’m sure, but it’s good to know the albatross is alive and well. I repeat, the albatross is alive and well, but for the first time in a long time, it remains soaring as I continue sailing away; from it, for it, and forever redefined, as a dictionless, directionless delusional debonair that’ll never marry ’em Webster but keep trying to web search those blog posts, not knowing that I am Jack’s Thought Catalog, and this is his “Smirking Revenge, Complete Lack of Surprise, Broken Heart, and Inflamed Sense of Rejection” (thanks Fight Club for that works cited) all rolled into one because he no longer finds them to be the one; just me, myself, and this paradox lost among this subtle water, enjoying the company of [name’s been dropped].