When I think a lot. When disappointments threaten to turn into despair. When realisations strike me that must be shared, or at the very least, scribbled somewhere, if only to be read later and laughed at.
So, my big thought:
When I make a friend, I invite that person into my life. To see me in all my moodiness and whimsical behaviour, to know what makes me tick. I learn in turn. About what brings a frown or a laugh. And what must never ever be said.
Perhaps that is the reason why, when a friendship goes astray, I feel like a little part of me is gone as well. That although I will certainly move on, an irreversible change has just occured and a gap in my otherwise neatly chaotic world has been created which can be filled perhaps but never perfectly.
I think sometimes, do the people I have lost feel the same way? And in a twist of circular logic, do they wonder if I wonder about them?