friends like that, the best kind, they make you feel safe. like your favourite clothes, the ones you've had forever, the ones you've worn in and lived in, they don't make you feel old or boring when you wear them. they protect you, and you can be anyone you like in them. i miss that feeling, feeling safe.
i've been thinking about my friends, and i've been thinking about home. i don't feel like i have a home here. when i mention this to people, especially people who are older than i am, their sympathy comes with the slightest bit of exasperation, because everyone has a time when they feel like they have no home. i don't particularly like zach braff or garden state but even his movie makes this point, because it's a feeling we all get. i don't have a home here because my friends aren't here, or they are but they're already living their own lives, and back at the ancestral seat i have a room in my parent's house with some of my things, and in the city my apartment is a wasteland.
i spend a lot of time at your place. i remember the first time i went back with you, to your house. it was november and it was raining. i had to pee, we had been downtown drinking and i had to pee, and by then everything was closed and we stood in the subway and i stumbled with indecision, i watched my train go by, and we took a cab back to your place so we could watch television and i could pee. on the cab ride i half-closed my eyes and lolled back onto the seat, the drunkard's choice to check out, momentarily, and you put your hand on my hand. your hand was warm and dry. sometimes the booze strips off a layer of protection enough to give your insides a shock. you can put your hand on someone's leg, on their knee, around their shoulders, you can put your hand in your pocket. you put your hand on my hand. i don't remember getting to your place, i don't remember going in. i remember laying on the couch and watching tv with eyes half closed, and you put a blanket over us, and i looked at you and you looked happy. i forgot about that, but now i remember.
i miss my friends and i miss the home that i had with them, but i don't feel it all the time, i feel it sometimes, i feel it less when i'm with you. i've decried, loudly and often, people who fall into relationships for the bonds of built-in friendship, to escape loneliness and sadness and the coldness of winter. what i suppose i never understood is that it doesn't have to be sullied with fear, that when you get love, from the ones you love, the ones who love you, you get a blanket, the best kind, that you carry with you in your heart. you get to go home and sleep in the bed that's yours.
the smiths - there is a light that never goes out
photo via hello bauldoff
