Texting an old friend whose problems I don’t know of, just as he doesn’t know any of mine. Details are vaguely discussed, dropping a few rants and feelings here and there. It’s enough that we know it’s difficult to talk about but always think of. It’s something to sort of hide. We both need a time machine. At least we both feel just as hopeless and pathetic. And we neither badger each other to actually talk about it nor force each other to feel better about the future. Because we know, only people like us know, that nothing changes it and nothing truly helps. This is the kind of silence shared and respected by the unmoved.
Hit me up if you wanna vaguely express the struggle of a loss you can’t get past. I promise this won’t be yet another distraction. I promise you won’t even feel better. I do promise however that I won’t judge you for feeling the way you really do.