one conversation

The other night I couldn't sleep. 

I was in bed with the lights out, as though creating the scene for sleep would force my body into submission. 

But my mind. 

My poor little mind was in turmoil.

Relationships are so confusing.  

Not just with my lovers, but with my friends. 

The people I assume will always be there stop texting. 

And people I never thought I mattered to care more than I ever realized. 

I hate secrets. 

The surest way to rift a perfect union is withholding. 

And keeping the burdens of your heart from your soul mates is sure to effect the intimacy. 

I've been feeling like I miss the people who sit right beside me. 

But are miles away in the canyons of their heart. 

And it's isolating, to feel locked away from the most important thoughts of your closest friends. 

But you can't feel hurt because it's not about you. 

It's never about you. 

But then why does it affect you so?

And just then my phone rang. 

It wasn't a text. 

A friend was calling me. 

And the first thought I had as I saw her name scrolled across my phone at 12:09am is, She must be pocket dialing me.

Because no one talks on the phone anymore. 

But she just wanted to hear my voice. 

And I almost started crying because in that moment I felt so loved. 

And even though we didn't see each other all the time.  

And we didn't talk all too often. 

All these years and we've been synced like sisters. 

Soul mates. 

And forty-three minutes later when I hung up the phone I didn't feel alone anymore.  

And it's amazing what letting someone in to your heartache can do for you both. 

And when my friends get together and share how we first met they all say the same thing: I sought them out. 

I must have a gift for identifying kindred spirits. 

And wanting to hold on dearly to each and every one of them. 

But I've never had control over the ones who've stayed. 

And it's overwhelming to feel so helpless about mattering enough to someone for them to keep you as a part of their broken little world. 

And in quiet moments of the night my heart aches for those who wrote me out of their story. 

And sometimes, in those same quiet moments, someone hears my heart and reaches out. 

Because they're grasping onto me as tightly as can be to remain a bright light in my own shattered little world. 

And I love them unconditionally for that.