the fade out

I hate looking at old pictures. It reminds me of what I dislike the most about myself.

Looking at the faces of friends long gone, teachers that I learned from then discarded from my life like a used tissue. I'm terrible at keeping up with those that aren't in my immediate periphery. It's too easy to let them drift away- time preserves them as "that person that I was close to when I was [still singing/16/at camp].

I've always been jealous of people who are good at keeping in touch. That prideful, almost arrogant way they say "My friend/mentor of [numerous] years...I've known them since I was [blank years old]". What they're saying is giving that person context in the story of their lives. What I hear is "Keeping people close for years on end is a priority to me- it signifies that I can be friends with people for years on end without the relationship fading away into obscurity. I have stronger values than you do". Clearly what I hear is a projection of my insecurity but I end up berating myself in the end anyways.

With the exception of a select few, my friendships are like chapters in a book. The rush of the beginning, the climactic moment, then the gradual end where we pass by each other through our respective lives like ghosts in the night.