Frayed Knot

Fear is crazy, isn't it?
Completely irrational.
People fear a lot of things.
I, personally, fear loss.
Namely, the loss of the few, few friends I have.
I have different sorts of friends.
Some of them, I rant and rave to about pigments and binders, or alliteration and assonance. Some, I have deep discussions with, which start out insightful and hopeful, and devolve into wondering what the true significance of Bugs Bunny's catchphrase, 'what's up, doc?' really is.
But, like the highlander, there's only one who's run the gamut. Even if he thinks I'm a tool, or an idiot, or doesn't understand a word I'm saying, and just wants me to shut up so he can roll over and go back to sleep, even if I've mutilated his pride and nipples and get wasted and hide under the pool table when he's TRYING to beat a bald Jewish midget, he's patient and good-humoured and big-hearted enough to grin crookedly, blink his eyes that glow just a little in the dark, and tell me something vague, that makes me laugh, that makes me know everything is going to be all right.
And I'm afraid I've fucked up royally, and that I'm too proud to really look at myself and see all the things I've done wrong, the things I've said wrong, the things I've left unsaid, and that maybe we'll turn into those people who see each other in ten years and don't know each other any longer. I'm afraid I've said too little, or too much, that I could have made more of an effort, in every way, that I've put out the wrong signals, that I've taken one of life's biggest tests and failed miserably.
And even if I do fail, even if tomorrow he wants nothing to do with me, and can't be bothered, if he realises how big the next monumental effort he's going to make is going to be, and focuses solely on it, and realises that I really was never there for him, anyhow, I'll still feel a better woman for having known him, and loved him, and I Will Not Be Embarrassed for this soppy, raw, honesty.
Merry Christmas.