I remember the instant I knew it wasn’t real, standing in a parking lot watching my last year drive away. I must admit to little surprise as I’d suspected for some time that the way I viewed reality was not compatible with another person, this was simply another small confirmation in the long list of life’s disappointments. It wasn’t real. The whispered endearments, the late night conversations, holding hands, the soft touch of lips, all substance without reality, if that makes any sense. It was a shadow play of reality, fulfilling some need inside the both of us. Leaving me empty and cold. Indifferent. It’s strange how I’d gotten to such a place in the blink of an eye it seemed. All my protestations of love and warmth and true feelings, blown away like the dust of a car leaving a parking lot. I thought a lot in the days following that revelation, about what was important. And about what is real. I realized that it doesn’t matter what we say, or pretend, or the stories we tell. What matters is what we do, the actions we take. Wouldn’t the truest friend be the one who picks you up when you fall, even while calling you stupid? It isn’t the promises we make that matter, it’s the promises we keep that tell the world who we are. Ever since that day I’ve been careful with every one I know, careful to make promises, and to keep them.
My promise for you: I’m here, if you need me.