Words for an Absent Friend

The sun has long since set on my side of the world. In fact, only the ticking of my watch marks for me the first hours of a new day. My neighborhood fell silent hours ago, arriving at that same state of suspended quiet you hear inside when only one person tries to make a house, a home. Or perhaps you don’t hear it at all.

Outside, raindrops resonate as they fall slowly onto the city street. The clouds release them so reluctantly, if I tried I could count each droplet just by listening for the sound when it strikes the earth. Inside, the clacking of fingernails against the keys adds a rhythmic accompaniment to nature’s melody. The words banging around in my head cry for escape, coming together as inspirations and ideas that sit in my brain, half formed, until they gather enough strength and wherewithal to command my full attention. Only then will they obtain that which is necessary for every idea and concept and theory to survive – life independent.

My thoughts tend to percolate until they become a running soliloquy in my inner monologue. I search for the right words to express emotions so real to me they have become tactile, with every sensory characteristic of a living, breathing entity. Until the words are perfect, however, I keep them locked inside, and at times, even beyond then. Some nights, the words are there, but the opportunity is not. Others, the desire to compose exists, but the words have left me. At times, I’ll write just to see the words on the page, in hopes that by writing of a topic of little consequence, the greater themes will follow once the words begin to flow. Then, there are nights like this.

Half-formed thoughts swim in my head tonight. I haven’t the presence of mind to try to explain why my brain believes they belong with one another, so I won’t even try. Tonight I write to capture the moment, to use words for the pure joy of seeing them come together and provide you with a glimpse into my mind tonight. I commit this crime against true literature without premeditation, and out of sheer indulgence.

I feel the need to write something in honor of a friend of whom I’ve lost track. We’ll call him, “Mark.” Mark is, for me, one of those people we all have in our pasts – one with whom our paths crossed for far too short a time, but who made a large impact in that brief moment. Mark loves language – he can turn a phrase that is both concise yet complete, and just writing to his level improved my skills as well.

Meeting Mark was like finding a lost piece of my soul residing in the body of another – so strong was the connection, so immediate and so enduring. Or so I thought. About a month after we met, it became clear our friendship was to become a victim of a cruel temporal prank. His job pulled him away, and as the physical distance grew larger and larger, our emotional distance grew more and more tenuous. I never had the opportunity for that closer inspection that reveals whether the imperfections underneath his amazing façade would have been endearing, or repulsive. Then again, as I walk down the garden path in my mind, perhaps it’s best the blush is still on that rose.

Regardless of what could have been, I live in what is now. We lost touch, but I still think of Mark and his love of language. Tonight, I sit and write in his honor. I hope someday to find him. Until then, I continue to write. Some nights, for the thoughts…some nights, for the release…and some nights, for the process. Tonight, for him.

To missed connections the world over, my friend. Saluté.