Sunday, 11 January 2015

Bothering to get to know someone is a fine art.

'A closed book' describes me pretty accurately as a person. My twitter bio (is there anything of more merit in today's society?) reads "as sardonic and sarcastic as ever".. and that's what I am. A shy, aloof, possibly rude, definitely cynical, 24 year old.
I don't open myself to people very often, if at all. A habit that has got me into some pretty dire situations in the past. I just don't feel the need to like or be friends with everyone. I'll tolerate you, I'll acknowledge you..ignorance isn't my style truth be told.
But you'll see very little of me, unless I like you.

I met someone in recent times. Much older than me, world's apart. And I felt something. Not going into romantic aspects or sexual attraction or even plain physical attraction - I felt something. Like we shared things in common. Shit, we DID share things in common. Something which is fucking rare in my world..and something which I treasure. Sense of humour, interests, and the fact that I felt comfortable enough to talk about personal things with this person in pretty early days.. speaks volumes for me. We talked all day, basically every day.. for months. I didn't wanna let this person go. Fuck. I wanted them in my life. 

You know when you see, or hear, or read something somewhere and you immediately wanna share it with a certain person. Like, you just know they'd love it too, or appreciate it or whatever. I had so many instances of this. Music, history articles I'd read online, funny stories or bits and pieces from my own life.. I wanted to tell him about it all.
Hell, I did foolish things like care when it was his birthday or I'd send him thoughtful presents and shit.

But it gets to the stage where your offerings are just piling up. Unanswered.
And I suppose then you should take the hint. They don't care. 

I guess I realised that rather than wanting to be my friend, this person had simply been nice to me. I'd been a victim of his compassion..something, as he told me once, he prides himself on.
Silly me. 

So, he is barely in my life. Which makes me sad, it really does. 
I still think of our conversations - about our childhood, where we grew up, religion, our favourite historical periods, politics, bands we both liked, films and a shared dirty sense of humour.. but did it ever really matter?

Life gets in the way sometimes, I get it. And I'm the worst when it comes to texting back or whatever.. but there's a definite difference between busy and this.

Bothering to get to know someone is a fine art. I guess some people get bored sketching.