As I settled into that odd state hovering between jadedness and calm repose that smells curiously of stale marriages, I seriously ponder what is the difference between love and friendship. One looks like the other, or is it that I have misconstrued the idea of love, that assumed stereotype of flame and thunder that accompany the notion of it where both meet every day to satiate the desires of constant companionship. Or is it simply a small notch higher than the other. How much do I love to accomodate all of that usurped notions?
I have to live with the idea that it is not what I had imagined. Is it time to retract myself from it? I have to keep readjusting the expectations and reformat my time. I have to be Xavier Harker again.
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