How many times have you made that call to your friend when your pain feels irredeemable. You know it will be distraction at best. But then the friend pick you up. In the familiar smell of his car, in how he lets the silence be, orders food for both you without asking you, makes casual talk before your vocal sadness gives him a cue to dive in, taps the table in front while averting his gaze if he knows you find it hard to be openly emotional in front of him, nods his head or completes your sentences; in the flow of his motions you find a sense of calmness. Here is something in your world which is happening just as it used to , and it is comforting.
Less has been said about such people in our lives, in whose absence it doesn't hurt to breathe, whose presence is registered more strongly than their absence, who are acknowledged as passing thoughts nut not bitterly missed.
Yet these are the people who become the gentle wind when our ships lose anchor, the people without whom we would be tossed around by merciless waves of our torrentous passions.
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