“Strike us like matches, cause everyone deserves the flames, We only do it for the scars and stories – not the fame.”
Jit once said that one of the things—the thing—that drew him to me, back when he and i used to do beer cans like changing consciences in love and smoked up as if that stuff was legal and seemed doomed to either prison or death, was my honesty. Little did he know.
To live in my shoes is to cultivate…a number of filthy habits, not the least of which is an inclination toward reduction. Sometimes i feel that my existence is, at its heart, a mechanism to reduce the spectrum of human emotion—pride, love, anger, loyalty, jealousy, lust, fear—to a instance of conflict. “Somebody was wronged”—one of the most impersonal sentences that i have ever uttered. And then you winnow it down to a verdict, an ultimatum, number of days.
You take a friend and you do the same. Jit, you’re chronically insecure—don’t you remember? Jit, you’re the man nobody i know could speak of without having to suppress a snicker. Jit, you made the mistake of being human to me once and I’m not about to let you forget it.
You silly idiot, don’t think this won’t come with a cost.
That’s the real lesson. Not “he can go on asking for more! “—although, God help him, he did get the verb right. Some people will exploit anything, any perceived vulnerability. If you’re smart (and he’s certainly that), ambitious (that as well), and a little bit of a coward (remains to be seen), you eliminate those vulnerabilities. Patch over them, bluff around them, guard them jealously.
He loved it. He so obviously loved–
Rahul, you’re different. Rahul, you’re different. Rahul, you’re different.
Until you’re left with that. Until you find yourself wondering what else there could possibly be.