I have always, always, been a good listener.
It has always been the matter of not having a person to listen to and not the matter of myself not being able to listen. I mean I’ve been alone for a lot of my life. Even as a kid. I became isolated from kindergarten onward. It took forever to sneak back into the status quo. I still don’t quite fit in, but I’m a whole lot more comfortable with who I am now.
And the Internet. Oh, I can’t even begin to describe my feelings and attitudes towards this global network. I have a lot of stories stored up in my head – stories of other people’s lives. The ones who trusted me enough to tell me a little more about themselves. Of course, these remain their stories and I’m not here to share them.
But instead I want to tell the story of my younger self and of the only person in my entire life who listened unconditionally. He did. I told him everything, every single little thing. I doubt he even remembers me now, but I remember him. He made a difference in my life. He taught me to look past the tedious bits of life and see the happiness awaiting at the finish line. He taught me how to stay positive despite my constant fits of depression and loneliness. We stayed up late talking about me. Just me.
I don’t know a single
fucking thing about him. Oh yes, I should probably mention that this is another one of my ‘online relationships’ – but it is more than that. It was more than just two strangers randomly chatting. He was family to me – as were others…but they never got so close.
So now the only thing I know about him is that he was studying in Florida, going through his second year of college, I believe. I was ten. He was probably around nineteen. And yet, everything felt so natural.
I feel like I had to grow up too fast.
Can I please, please be that four year old kid again?
The one that laughed on top of her father’s shoulders, the one that collected cute little Pokemon plushies, the one that used to be so sure of where she was going?
Oh life. You play with me.
—tumblr: I’m sorry.