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*LOCKED*
That it isn't easy.
I mean, sometimes it can be. And sometimes it's the less that easy and more than the hard I'm referring to. So already I'm making no sense.
That's the way it goes with friends, we find them. And just as often...well they find us. And we gather them up, taking part in each other's lives because instincually I think we cling to childhood myths about what is promised there, and a sheer need to survive. Because friendship is supposed to bring stability. These are the people who will do the finding, and listen to the nothingness that I can speak on so regularly, and then let you be just as quiet long past that. But they can also dissapoint. They can over-shelter, protect to the point of prisons, and let us down. And the down part is maybe our own fault, the result of expectaion and a dependancy we'd claim to have never wanted. But it's all there.
Friends aren't stable. I think they might be the most unstable thing I know, more than any element in any lab, discovered or not. But...but they're ours. All the ups and downs, hurts and not, they are always there. Knowledge coming through repitition, and mostly the love coming almost all at once. I think everyone has felt that. So I guess that's where the myth comes from, where we start to depend on the instability. It's the feeling, more than the facts.
But that doesn't mean we don't need the rest either. And that doesn't mean a part of us isn't just still...waiting. Hoping it'll come after all, the part that's always the same.
I think they see that when they look at me. Maybe I even know they do, though I try and avoid the loud sounds silent expectations like that make. Fred, always there with a smile. Fred, always there with a laugh. Fred, always there with a distracting ramble, or an unexpected hug, or a warm thought and a shared look. Fred, so much of her, always the same...no matter what happens.
Because things do happen, obviously. So just as logically, in instability comes back. And with it, the change. How many times have they come and gone from the hotel, gotten lost past the point of knowing any more...even if for a while, until even when death doesn't mean what it did. I've watched them all, from every angle possible, watched them hurt and cry and mourn and fight back...and change.
So why do I feel like I'm not allowed to? Even after Pylea, and that long and empty summer, and Jasmine? Why do I feel the need to be this single, stable and unchanged point in their lives? And why, when it's for my friends, maybe the best reason of all, does it sometimes leave me feeling so alone?
"I am so sick of holding everything up around here. First Wesley leaves, then Angel, and Cordy. I-I'm sick of taking care of everything and paying bills and making peace and plans and keeping my chin up— God, I am so sick of my chin being up!"
So maybe it isn't all that much of a secret. Maybe I'm broadcasting all this even now, there if they want to see. It's possible I suppose. Just like I know...well I already know the answers to my own questions.
I do it for them.
It's not that I don't want to be all the things...that I didn't make that choice. To not respond and react to my enviroment as surely as they do, or at least as visibly. But I'm not as strong as the rest of them, and that's not going to change in an real way. Physically there will always only be so much I can do. Oh, I invent things, or I work the lab, and I research and...it's not that I don't feel I do my part. But when I want to feel strong, this is what I found.
I can be what they want to see. I can be the girl with the smile, and the words, and the ease that they need. I can been there for them, for just as long, and just as unchanged, as they could possibly need. The one that no matter what happens, is always...
But is isn't easy. It'll never been that, so much as a decision, because I don't want the intent and feeling to be lost. Something that's there, to be given. And taken. But in most ways, never known either.
I hope.
I hope.
That it isn't easy.
I mean, sometimes it can be. And sometimes it's the less that easy and more than the hard I'm referring to. So already I'm making no sense.
That's the way it goes with friends, we find them. And just as often...well they find us. And we gather them up, taking part in each other's lives because instincually I think we cling to childhood myths about what is promised there, and a sheer need to survive. Because friendship is supposed to bring stability. These are the people who will do the finding, and listen to the nothingness that I can speak on so regularly, and then let you be just as quiet long past that. But they can also dissapoint. They can over-shelter, protect to the point of prisons, and let us down. And the down part is maybe our own fault, the result of expectaion and a dependancy we'd claim to have never wanted. But it's all there.
Friends aren't stable. I think they might be the most unstable thing I know, more than any element in any lab, discovered or not. But...but they're ours. All the ups and downs, hurts and not, they are always there. Knowledge coming through repitition, and mostly the love coming almost all at once. I think everyone has felt that. So I guess that's where the myth comes from, where we start to depend on the instability. It's the feeling, more than the facts.
But that doesn't mean we don't need the rest either. And that doesn't mean a part of us isn't just still...waiting. Hoping it'll come after all, the part that's always the same.
I think they see that when they look at me. Maybe I even know they do, though I try and avoid the loud sounds silent expectations like that make. Fred, always there with a smile. Fred, always there with a laugh. Fred, always there with a distracting ramble, or an unexpected hug, or a warm thought and a shared look. Fred, so much of her, always the same...no matter what happens.
Because things do happen, obviously. So just as logically, in instability comes back. And with it, the change. How many times have they come and gone from the hotel, gotten lost past the point of knowing any more...even if for a while, until even when death doesn't mean what it did. I've watched them all, from every angle possible, watched them hurt and cry and mourn and fight back...and change.
So why do I feel like I'm not allowed to? Even after Pylea, and that long and empty summer, and Jasmine? Why do I feel the need to be this single, stable and unchanged point in their lives? And why, when it's for my friends, maybe the best reason of all, does it sometimes leave me feeling so alone?
"I am so sick of holding everything up around here. First Wesley leaves, then Angel, and Cordy. I-I'm sick of taking care of everything and paying bills and making peace and plans and keeping my chin up— God, I am so sick of my chin being up!"
So maybe it isn't all that much of a secret. Maybe I'm broadcasting all this even now, there if they want to see. It's possible I suppose. Just like I know...well I already know the answers to my own questions.
I do it for them.
It's not that I don't want to be all the things...that I didn't make that choice. To not respond and react to my enviroment as surely as they do, or at least as visibly. But I'm not as strong as the rest of them, and that's not going to change in an real way. Physically there will always only be so much I can do. Oh, I invent things, or I work the lab, and I research and...it's not that I don't feel I do my part. But when I want to feel strong, this is what I found.
I can be what they want to see. I can be the girl with the smile, and the words, and the ease that they need. I can been there for them, for just as long, and just as unchanged, as they could possibly need. The one that no matter what happens, is always...
But is isn't easy. It'll never been that, so much as a decision, because I don't want the intent and feeling to be lost. Something that's there, to be given. And taken. But in most ways, never known either.
I hope.
I hope.
