She sits afar, looking at him. It’s new, this feeling. This feeling that makes her feel awkward, because she senses he wants her to leave him alone. She does it, because no matter how much she denies it, she is a person sensitive to the bonds between people. She can see them, like silken wires, weaving threads, interlinked inexplicably. Her thread to him is worn now, about to be cut off. She has tugged at it, many times; and failed even more. She’s stopped telling him how much that thread means to her. She no longer tells him how she misses the feeling of the meagre thread that was once a strong, silken cord, a pleasure to hold.
You there. Don’t make the same mistake. Don’t leave a friend in the lurch. Don’t say you’ll catch them whenever they falter unless you mean it.
Don’t hold them in their weakest moment to become a crutch, then leave when they get used to you.
Don’t say you’re my own and leave them to the world.
Don’t provide a refuge in your arms and then set them loose.
As a friend of mine once told me when high, ‘You only really love a friend when, inspite of knowing all their faults and all their fuckups, you stay with them.’ Don’t let someone think you are capable of that, and then leave them high and dry.
Title: Mumford and Sons. Ghosts that we knew.