The tale I will tell will resound of a childhood story… only in this one there are only people who hurt each other, no wild animals (although… the symbolism is there).
Once upon a time in a teeny tiny town there lived a boy who stood tall over the rest. His hair was smooth and clean, brown like a deep bayou. This gentleman was quite the looker, as my grandmother would say. Tall, skin tanned in the sun, muscles that brought comfort but not intimidation. He spoke with a sweet, deep voice and knew music like the lines on his hands.
All of the ladies swooned over his boyish charm and charisma, which was dangerous. One summer this boy met a girl whom he later described as ‘awkward in a positively addictive fashion’. The two spent that summer getting acquainted… they shared melodies and memories. Then everything changed… or reality set in.
The boy became scared and afraid to confront his feelings for the quirky young lady, he reverted to something that was familiar. The lady continued on with life, only pausing to notice that there was another crack etched into her already fairly dented heart. There were days when she could not shake his memories, his smell, his laugh. And there were weeks where she would do just fine without a single thought towards those beautiful soft hands, his grin, his arms.
At some point, they would contact each other, little exchanges here or there, but never of substance. The boy would suggest they spend time together; the girls knees would get weak, her mouth began to smile, and her heart raced. The girl would then proceed to wait… and wait… and wait with true patience. She would not hear anything, so tired and disappointed she would go to sleep. If she was lucky he would come to her in her dreams, but that was the only place she would see him. A few months would go by with minimal contact, then they would speak and he would state his friendship and offer to get together… and the young girl would swoon, stand up strong, and wait… and wait… and hear nothing. This process repeated itself to the point where the girl lost all hope. Hope isn’t even the right word. She lost all faith in friendships, in people.
The young boy in our story has one obvious flaw. He cries wolf. There is a limit to the number of disappointments and lack of communication. At a certain point a soul grows ragged and the crack in that precious heart breaks off. If you cry friendship enough people cease to believe it.
You see, the moral of the story is that friendship is something that is very fragile, but it is so incredibly beautiful. You spend days, months, even years cultivating relationships with people. You trust in each other and you support one another. It is in some ways more fragile than life itself. If you are lucky you have a handful of friends with whom you spend a lifetime getting to know. Treasure these people. Life, friendship, and connections are so important. For some they are less important… perhaps that is the case with our main character. But for me and the story of my life, I won’t ever cry wolf. My friends are like gold – I don’t need much but I need it to be pure.
Some friendships are made by nature, some by contact, some by interest, and some by souls. ~ Jeremy Taylor