Friends are stars and the black velvet in any dark night, bringing comfort within whatever reality you find yourself in.
Friends are connected souls weaved with when their cerebral wires are exposed and twisted together to form the right kind of sparks.
Friendship feels as the wind or the water that flows between open fingers in a summer stream, yet when the wintry winds blow it is the woollens and the hearth, and in dangerous times it becomes both sword and shield. For friendship is a kind of love and love is an emotion for real and casual heroes.
In this easy going camaraderie we have ignited the kind of friendship that will be part of our onward lives, for in the calmness we share the pilot light will remain bright and strong.
My friends are not the perfect, or the neat or the tidy... my friends are those with enough love in their hearts to fight for and defend what is right and good. So come with those frayed edges and scratches, because what counts is still holds a steady rhythm within.
Your friendship is the soft colours of nature, the delicate browns and the sky that deeps to show us the stars, it is an earthiness that lasts a lifetime.
There is no fine whisky in fine lounges or among those celebrated on pedestals that can match the smallest speck of this joy that is my friends. For no matter the weather or the place I find myself in, it is there within me and I am warm.
You are the friends who believe in me, you believe in any wind or in the face of any rumour. You are the ones who make the cradle for my soul, the very fabric that keeps me warm. And so I thank the universe and every star above that we have made our way together, that our life paths are woven so intricately.
You are the friends who come as freely as birdsong and bring out the dance of my soul. Here, in the bliss of your smiles and companionship, I am free.
That rug, that stupid old filthy rug, had seen more dancing shoes than a ballroom. It was where we twirled, everyone with everyone, the music escaping from every open window and door. Once the colour of cherries, now it told an earthy tale of love and laughter, of more good times than anyone is ever promised. I could have replaced it, brought in another, but instead we hauled it to the river in good weather and washed it as best we could.
If I dwell on memories of old friends, there is warmth. If I think of their eyes there is love. If I hear old words of the past there is comfort and safe harbour. People say that pain lives in the past, that we can choose to let it go. Yet the void between us old friends will always feel painful because I will always keep the door open, feel the chill winter wind, in the hope of change. I believe that the salvation of others exists in how they treat us, and ours in how we treat them. We are drawn to forgive because we were blessed to know their hearts when the sun shone, and we mourn to see them move into the shadow of indifference, into the slumber of the soul. I pray that they find a way back to the light, back to love without frontiers or the poison of judgement.
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