Yet every long night, every shared laugh is so close to me - barefoot in the night screaming with tears of lamnetation for the rememberance of glory. Young, honest, scratching so hard at our cages because we are bigger than these quaint vessels. We were bigger than life.
I need to feel that my mourning was not in vain. Because I know that the love I felt for these people was more real that anything in my life. When I took them in, fed them, stayed up all night with them because they were sad, stood up to their parents, and when I knew that my life was better because of them. When they did these things for me.
This isn't about me. It isn't about feeling better or wanting attention. It's about knowing that it wasn't fashion. That if you were sincere about loving someone, it never goes away no matter how angry you get. It is important that I know if I was the only one who mourned. Even if knowing is at my own expense. Because it doesn't matter if we ever do anything ever again. What matters is how much it mattered then. That was real, and like it or not, it is the basis for the friendships we make for the rest of our lives.
No matter what we think of each other. We owe each other that.