I was remembering how happy I was that he and I became friends. I was remembering the one moment that I felt complete. It was September 15, 2012. He was the only one that believed that I could make my crack pot dream of having a museum to Freddie Mercury a reality. It was nice having someone that believed in the impossible insanities in my head. I miss that.
The thing about that relationship that makes me sad is that he believed everyone else about my feelings except for me. I'm far more complex than anyone I know. Love for me does not mean romantic love. I haven't been in love with anyone, not really, but it seems even he thinks that I was. I've mistaken a feeling of love for being in love, but the truth is that I don't understand the concept of romantic love. It's a feeling that eludes me. I lost a really good friend, not because of work, but because of our lack of communication to fix the problems without using extremes. Now it's probably too broken to be fixed.
Memories can hurt. I was never popular, I was smart and awkward. I never really kept friends for a long time, there are a few exceptions, but other than that I never felt comfortable anywhere. Like most of my age group, I am struggling financially under student loan debt. I am paying it down, but I can't afford to be on my own. I cannot get back to London, the only place that I felt like I belonged.
I felt like he was always meant to be there. As much as my job played a role in my current depression, the loss of my friend was far more detrimental. Combine that without having London and you have what I am today. Still fighting for my life, for a happiness that may never come. I am the loneliest person in any room and I remember every companion of mine that leaves.
I remember everyone that leaves.
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