Treasure Maps & Things

Waiving my white flag in; I give up, I give in. No more giving you pennies just because you're clinking your worn and torn cup of change. I am begging too! I have a cup of my own that clinks! I just don't go around begging, so you would never know. I appear poor on the outside, but I am rich on the inside. But you? You are poor in every dimension, like watching a tragic movie in 3D. 

I was looking for your hidden treasure, and "to make things easy" you gave me a treasure map. 

Walk 200 meters north, go west at Old Memories of Ex-Girlfriends' Past Lane, walk 1,000 meters south; arrive at Lake Cheated & Drowned Them B*tches, then swim towards the under water cave- take a deep breathe. Put the right pass-code in and the boulder moves and suddenly there's an entrance.

There's a party and it's a dancing game! But I don't want to square dance anymore. I survived all the boobie traps, said all the right words in all the right order; killed the monstrous guards, slayed the fire-breathing dragons, climbed mountains, went to the moon and brought you back moon rocks-- and still, I can't find my way to the real you. 

I'll sit down, take a break. Retrace my steps and ask myself, "Did I mistakenly make a wrong turn at Ex-Girlfriend's Past Lane? Or did I walk too far past the lying, flute-playing leprechaun?" 

I rest my aching back against an old tree near me. Take a nap, you'll feel better when you wake, it tells me. Either I drank too much red wine, or my dreams are too elusive; in the middle of the night, that old tree came to life, and leaned in above me, only to whisper, "Go... HOME."  

The wind brushed up against me and the rise of goosebumps on my arms made me conscious. 

Treasure maps and dreams

and a bunch of wild things,

like old wise willow trees

that whisper

"Go HOME, Ash."

Glory [Lupe Fiasco].

When your spirit is strained and you're limited to change,
the lyrics in your limericks will change;
a different hook, the way the sentences are arranged,
more demented in your deliverance, more sinister in your slang
sounds more belligerent when its sang.
The TRUTH...
is limitless in it's range.
If you, drop a "T" and look at it in reverse, 
It could HURT. 
Look at the grimaces of the pain,
and it's worse when it works, and your membership is gained,
but you're forgetting the proof diminishes in the flames,
like POOF! 
The media pours images in your brain
of the score of the war where militants is slain;
the faces of the guilty where innocence is proclaimed,
and they're filthy, the deaf ears are the winners,
the listeners are the lames...
Of the ballad of the man that the son of a minister has became.


But you gotta understand our differences are the same.
What starts in clouded minds, finishes in the rain.
Of the fools that are used as instruments in the game,
where oppression is the Queen and ignorance is the King,
where Revolution is dead...
No candles in its memory, no rememberance of its fame,
just a mystery, no mentioning the history of the chain.
The enemy, no Hennessy sentiments in its name,
just an unmarked grave that menaces have defamed
with the propaganda, and images of the gangs.
A lost art, no apprentices in the trained,
and they're brainwashed, no interest in the stain
and their mind's weary all the adrenaline in the drain
while the wrecking balls are... disassembling things.
Our highness is the cause, its imminence is the blame;
the pride is still here, the pillaging still remains.

And you gotta respect the position in which you're playing;
never let your heart reflect the conditions in which you're staying,
even if it’s dark, and the temperature is the same
as winters in the Ukraine, you're appendages is in chains.
Have forgiveness from the start, keep maliciousness restrained.
Be smart, never indiscriminate in your aim,
'cause its innocent witnesses are oblivious to the things
that come to ones that hypnotists keep entertained.
And you can't arch, have some resilience in your frame.
Stay resistant and committed to what you're saying
'cause they'll flip it the minute that you refrain.
Read the books and the lines, and literature in between.
You gotta be educated when going against the grain.
Pay attention, they're illegitimate in their claims.
They assisted in the killing and pillaging,
in addition to the addiction, shit is much bigger than just the planes.

"Friends"? -- Friend.

I was 7 years old when I met Jerlina. She lived in the apartment above mine in Washington Heights. She was 8 years old and spoke broken English. My grandmother thought it would be a good idea for me to have someone play with after school-- it would teach me how to be social and make friends. With me knowing no Spanish, and her barely speaking English, we became good friends and managed to play together every day after school. We played hide and seek, I would often hide in her closet, she would hide behind the couch, our options were limited.


We inseparable by 11, and language was no longer a barrier, she had learned it well very quickly, and I finally considered her to be my best friend. My first friend, my real friend. There were fights and moments of not-speaking as we got older, but somehow, we always ran back towards each other and apologized for things said and unsaid; things done and not done. We loved each other too much, had gone through too much together for us to throw it all away and start over new with a different friend. We had memories and time on our side, infinitely. She knew all of my deepest darkest secrets, and I knew all of hers and whenever we got our hearts broken, we were there for each other.


At 23 and she 24, living in different states that leave thousands of miles between us, we still call each other and seek comfort in each other's advice and words of wisdom. I find it strange that while I now live with 3 other "friends," I often don't find comfort in talking to them. I don't find comfort in their "friend"-ship. For some time, I thought it was me, and it may very well be me, but I've come to a sad yet true realization: people change, and friendships don't always remain the same. Unlike me and Jerlina, some friendships don't survive the storms and when the sun comes out, we all go our separate ways. 


I live in a house of 3 other people, yet I always feel completely alone in their presence. I have nothing to tell them, to share with them, and its not because I don't want to, it's because we have no history, no common interests. To add to it, I come from a rough background; a background many cannot understand or relate to. It makes it difficult for them to understand where I come from and why I am the way I am. While they have their own problems to deal with, I know that mine are much larger and I suppose I don't want to burden them with the weight of my world, even though, isn't that what friends are for? When it came down to it, I feared the idea of being judged by people I liked and wanted to fit in with. When I finally took the time to reflect on the friendships I've had with different types of people, the ones that have survived the longest in my life are the ones I've been able to open up to; the ones that never judged me and accepted me for who I was, who I am, and who I will some day be. The ones who I have valued the most in my life are the ones that understand where I've been and why at times, I feel I can't stay strong and move on.


While I wish I could value these "friends" I live with the same way, it appears there is nothing which brings us together. I tried to uphold all the things I once believed kept us together as friends-- AFROTC, AAS candidacy, birthday's, Spring Break, and while those experiences changed me in ways that will always affect me, they aren't  the glue that keeps us together because new memories are made every day, and we are not the same people we were yesterday. We will never be, and our friendship will never be. Our pasts haven't brought us any closer than two strangers sitting next to each other in a subway cart. Our present has been nothing but a long, strung-out road of distance and more distance between me and them. It hurts me to think about it because I never imagined friendship in that way, and I never had friendships that weren't-- real. When I think about it, all the friends I have, whether I see or talk to them every day or not, are still my friends because when things hit the fan, they are there when I need them, and vice versa. 


I would like to take some blame for the way things have turned out between all of us, but a big part of me is too angry to, and too disappointed, and even more shocked to be rational about it all. Maybe in a few months from now, when I have finally moved on, I will leave this part of my past behind and not bother looking back. If you aren't there for my past or present, you most likely won't be apart of my future. I need stability, reliability, trust, honesty, love, care, compassion, and lots of attention. I guess that makes me sound like some sort of a pet, but I think after all I've been through, its the least I can ask for. I don't need to be judged anymore than what I've already been. I'm not rich, I'm poor; I didn't go to Disney World as a kid, I didn't have family trips and vacations, I didn't have a father in my life, or a stable home, I didn't have any of the things most kids wish for or have. I wasn't a happy kid because I didn't have much to be happy about. I grew up angry and sad and disappointed about things, because I had a lot to be angry and sad and disappointed about. My dad in jail all my life, my mom and her horrible boyfriends, my grandmother was too heartbroken about both her sons being in jail to help me, I had to help raise my 2 smaller siblings, I've had a job since I was 15, and have always had one ever since; I've been depressed the majority of my life, and there is nothing I can do about it. I've accepted all of this, and I guess all I can say is, I thank all the friends who have accepted me for that. As for everyone else who can't handle me with all my baggage, so long. My life moves on, the same way the sun always rises and sets, and the world keeps on turning.

Blast From The Past.

While taking the time out to clean out my desk and my drawers, I stumbled upon an old letter that was written to me from my ex-boyfriend 3 years ago. He was a Marine and had done two tours to Iraq and Afghanistan. For some reason or another, I never read this letter and now for the first time, that I sat here and actually read it, I realized that there's a story within it that I'd like to share, which is based on a true story.

A Marine came back from Iraq to his base in California. He called his mom and his father and told them, "Hey! I'm back!" They were really happy to hear from him. He went on telling them about his friend. He said, "Father, my best friend just came back with me and he got his legs blown off in combat, is it possible that when I come home for leave, can I bring him with me?" The father replied, "Well, son, I don't think you should. He will be kind of an inconvenience. I think it's best off that you just let him get treated in the hospital because they have people that are trained to handle people like your friend." The Marine tried so hard to convince his father and mother otherwise, but got nowhere. That was their feelings about it and there was nothing more that can be said or done to change their minds. Later on that night, 0200, the mother and father get a phone call from a police officer saying their son committed suicide by jumping off a 40-story building. When they flew to California to see if they can recognize their combat veteran son, they saw he had no legs.

Somewhere after finishing this long 5 page letter, I realized I was 17 when he wrote it and I knew nothing about the world and about the military. He was suffering from PTSD and was having problems expressing himself to people. He came to me hoping I'd understand him and accept him- in the end I didn't. Throughout the entire letter he goes on to share his feelings of love for me, but while saying all of these things he also predicts the near break-up of our relationship.


The Marines had changed him forever. I remember him waking up with night-sweats, and suffering from sleep apnea. I remember him always being paranoid about the people and things around him. I couldn't understand him then, I have never been to war. I have never had my close friends die in front of my eyes. I never understood his drinking habits or why he looked at the world from a defensive point of view. Once again, I was young and naive. All I wanted was a normal relationship- someone who would actually have fun going out to crowded places and not cause a scene when a stranger is standing too close him. Someone who wouldn't become paranoid from illusions that he built up in his mind because someone was staring at him in the wrong way. All I wanted was a normal relationship, but in wanting that, I hurt him and broke him. I refused to understand him and accept him. He knew this, and because of this, he knew we were not ever meant to be- even though I thought we were. Two years and he is the only guy who's ever taught me anything about life. He was the only guy who knew what it was to be a man in a relationship.


I was the problem. That story he told, about the Marine who committed suicide, I now realized he was secretly saying that I was the parents who didn't want to accept someone who's been damaged. At 17, I had gone through my own trials and tribulations, but nothing could compare to what he has seen and done- and that my friends, is where we grew apart. My mind could only reach but so far, and his hands couldn't extend out to me any longer. I gave up on him just as much as he gave up on me.


In the end, he turned out to be right. He moved on from me in a matter of days, while I spent the remainder of a year crying my eyes out for nights on end. Getting drunk with my friends only to end my night in tears wishing I understood where we had gone wrong. I knew I was all wrong but I was too young to understand how and why.


I never admitted this to anyone but at this point I'm willing to pour my soul out at this very moment. There was one night, just a few months before things ended between us, where I had gone to visit him for the weekend. We stood up late watching t.v., and as I laid there trying to fall asleep, he broke our silence and asked me, "Ash... Are you still in love with me?" Any good girlfriend who is really in love would've have quickly responded, "Yes, I do." But no, not I. I said no such thing. Instead, I paused and felt darkness creeping up on me, telling me, "Tell him the truth." And so I did. I told him in the kindest words I could find, "No I don't think I am anymore." There it was, all out there. I broke his heart in that moment. He had known before then that I was changing and with that, so were my feelings towards him. He had known long before me that I would not love him forever, but that I will always love him at the same time. He cried that night, and I didn't know what to say or do. It was one of those moments when you're expecting a child to know how read and write instantly; I was that child and I couldn't even speak. Words just would not come out of my mouth and for that moment, I was completely mute and hopeless, feeling guilty for having torn his heart apart. I was 17 years old and I knew nothing about life.


I am 22 years old now and head over heels over some young guy who knows nothing about life. There's only so much one's mind can imagine without actually experiencing it first-hand. In the end, I got my heart broken by this Marine. What he couldn't get out of me, he got it from someone else, which I hope she was worth it. In the end, I spent an entire year grieving over a relationship that was destined to end anyways. I couldn't understand it then and now that time has past, I understand it all so clearly now. Had he known me today, things may have worked out, but everything happens for a reason and people are in your life only for a season.

Toys.

Once, when I was a kid, my mom and I were on our way home from school and on this miraculous day, I spotted a toy store I hadn't noticed before. Something glimmered and sparkled as I took a few steps past the front window. A shiny plastic object deflected the sun's light the way a shield protectively deflects swords, arrows, and lances. With just one glance of this magnificent toy I saw on display, I was immediately glued to the glass window. Like a moth flying towards the light, I was just drawn to it instantly, not at all knowing what it really was. Oh, I wanted everything in the world to get it. I imagined it could do all sorts of things and had all sorts of gadgets I wanted to play with. Soon enough, commercials played on TV for it, the jingle was quick and catchy. I'd sit up close to the TV bobbing my head to the one-minute tune, and when the commercial was done I would think to myself, "I gotta have it!" 

After a week or two of rampaging on with my friends about this toy, I finally got an up-close look at it, right out of its stiff, cardboard box. Though my preview and trial of it was brief, I realized it didn't function at all the way I imagined. It needed batteries, and when the batteries died out, it was dead; all the games and pretending would be over. The texture didn't feel right either. From afar it looked shiny and smooth, fine and durable like a brand new marble floor. In person, it felt rubbery and fake. The same way a cubic zirconia could appear to look like a diamond, but never be a real white diamond. The plastic was shallow and thin, should it fall in the wrong manner, it would break and crack. How could I confuse the toy I saw on display, and the toy I actually held in my hands? I don't know. Maybe the day I noticed it through the store windows, the glare from the sun molded and manipulated its' appearance. Maybe the toy on display was a special version of it; display only, but not to buy. Maybe the one I test-tried out of the cardboard box was completely defective; some kind of manufacturing glitch I suspected.

No matter how many excuses I came up with, my interest was already gone without me fully realizing it. Yes, some part of me still wanted my mom to buy it-- I had some small hope that I might feel different about it if I took it home and played around with it; gave it a chance to redeem itself somehow. In the back of my mind, I already knew this toy stood no chance at being my toy anymore. It was a done deal. It had none of the qualities I dreamed it had, it had none of the functions promised on the cardboard box. It was a dysfunctional, stupid toy that relied on double A batteries for its' survival. Was I just being a dreamer? Did I want and expect too much? After all, it was the same toy I saw on display, the same toy advertised in the infinite commercials I saw on television, in which the jingle in the commercial played in my mind like a broken record-- it was no different. Or was I completely misled by all the false advertisements that portrayed and promised one thing, when really it was another? Who was I to blame, I asked.

No one wants to buy something that appears to be fantastic in the front glass window of a gigantic bright store, that's actually really not amazing at all. In fact, it's just like all the other toys around it. Not much shinier, not much brighter, bigger, or better. It doesn't have any cool light-up buttons that would unlock a magical power. There isn't a cool wireless remote control hidden in its cardboard box that gives you ultimate control over it, making you feel like an almighty God. No, there isn't any of that. 


I never did take that toy home, and after a while I didn't care much at all for it. All curiosity towards it went out the window, and so I moved on to the next best toy-- or so it seemed.

Open Your Eyes.

It's 7:22AM and I am still in bed, knowing very well that I have class in an hour and a half.


I often find it difficult some days to get out of bed and get my day going; my mind is too weak to get my body up and moving. Most days, I lay in bed for about 30 minutes or so, just zoning in and out of my past and present. Everything in my room is quiet, I can even hear my heart beat- I have the heart of a runner, you'd say. I close my eyes and I'm suddenly taken back to my lost days with him.


Walking down Broadway, hands interlocked- not too tight, just right. We're wearing our favorite Sperry's, while our shiny aviators deflect the bright rays of the beaming sun. You're holding our lunch in your left hand, gently swinging it merrily. You took the time out to plan our small picnic, and for that I was ever so grateful. We made our way to the grass and laid out our small blanket, just big enough for two. Devouring our sandwiches while telling stories of our previous experiences and our individual plans and goals. You knew deep down I always wanted to be a writer. You knew it's what I was made for, even though I had fought against the idea of it and became a biology major instead. I knew deep down you wanted to be a film director and a screen play writer, even though you fought against it and became an engineering major instead. Together, we loved art. Together, we are art. We love the art of reading, writing, movies, photography, and theater. We laid out on our blanket side-by-side, belly's faced down, feet kicked-up in the air behind us, the world at our backs, imagining all of our most wildest dreams. I told you of all my favorite books, while making a list of all the books I ever wanted you to read, and you made a list of all the greatest (most classic) movies I needed to watch with you. We watched the sun set that day without realizing how much time really passed. You often interrupted me with your kisses... I shared something that day. I shared my soul with you.


I open my eyes and realize I'm back in my room. I lie wrapped up in my blankets like a caterpillar in a cocoon, too scared to step out and face my reality; I haven't transformed into a butterfly yet.


I close my eyes again. I decide I'm not ready.


You pick me up from the Metro North right on time. We finally make our way to the beach to meet up with your friends. We set up our cooler and towels, and of course throw on our favorite American Optic aviators. As chatty as your friends are, you and I are wrapped up in our own conversation; joking around about our body's, simply making fun of ourselves. You told me I was perfect; that my body was just perfect for yours. I believe you. We hold hands in the sand, until we decide to run into the water. I'm not much of a swimmer so you piggy-back me into the deep end, attempting to scare me by jokingly saying that you're going to let go, as I shout for you not to. We laugh as I grasp you tighter like my favorite childhood teddy bear. Twisting me around, so that I was then facing you- you kiss me. I keep my arms and legs wrapped tightly around you, and again, you kiss me and it tastes just the same as biting into a fresh ripe plum. Refreshing.


I open my eyes again and stare at my astronaut poster hanging on the wall. I see one man on the moon and through the reflection of his helmet, there's three other astronauts, dancing on the moon with him.


I close my eyes again.


Back in your room, watching all of our favorite episodes of "Modern Family," "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia," and "Flight of the Conchords." My head resting on your chest, while my left leg wraps across your waist. That's how we lay. Secretly, I'm listening to your heart beat. You have the strong heart of a runner; inhale deep, exhale slow.


Back track a memory ago: you lay your head on my lap while I run my fingers through your hair. You turn up and gaze into my eyes, then get yourself up-right just so you could kiss me- one more time. The eyes of a happy dog making his way back home. We're home.


I quickly fast forward to our lazy Sunday's. I would always wake up earlier than you and make a bowl of cereal and turn on the TV to Cartoon Network. You would hear me laughing and occasionally talking to myself and you'd peak an eye open, and smile. You'd pull me underneath the covers with you and we laid there face-to-face, staring right into my soul. I remember one day, I realized you had one eye greener than the other and in the middle of that thought, you kissed me. We would play for hours and wrestle around like kids. You always pinned me down and smothered me with kisses, while I laughed and pretended to want to break free.


For every moment that your eyes met mine, my heart melted just a little bit more. As cliche as it sounds, your eyes always somehow pierced right through me and found a way to make me feel fragile and weak, and at times, hopeless. How you did it?... I wish I knew.


I keep my eyes closed for a little bit longer and again fast forward to another day and place.


We're sitting on a bench outside at 11 o'clock at night. We hadn't seen each other since that day I sat on my room floor crying to you because you told me that I wasn't the one for you. I was really crying because I didn't want you to leave- but you left anyway, and I sat there for 2 hours, with my legs crossed Indian style, not sobbing, just thinking as the tears from my eyes fell to my bare thighs. We sat on the bench not holding hands, barely looking at each other, yet we were engaged in a serious conversation. Three hours later we were still sitting at that bench and we found ourselves again, talking about all of our hopes and dreams. Your hand slowly crept up to mine as you found a way to wrap your fingers in between mine. We were holding hands. My heart began to beat faster, while my mind screamed against it. You kissed me on the cheek and all the while, I did my best to act completely indifferent. My thoughts raced and my conscience was literally printing out the words in front of me in bright red letters: "WARNING: You are NOT THE ONE for HIM!... Let go, NOW!" I couldn't. I wanted to. I tried. The next thing I knew, your arms were wrapped around me and I felt at home again. Almost like a moth, blinded by the bright lights, he can't help but to continue to fly towards it.


It's 8:13AM. I have class in one hour. I haven't showered or even gotten out of bed yet. It's Valentine's Day... Who cares. I don't.


I'll close my eyes again and rewind... just one more time.

Pink Flamingos in the Pool.

Much of this year was a blur to me. Things went by so fast and before I knew it, we're nearly approaching a whole new year- new memories, new friends, and new paths. 


I often relive my night-time dreams of the days when we'd get together on Friday nights to get "work" done; actually, we did less work, and had more jokes and laughter. Going in on Saturday mornings with as little as two hours of sleep, realizing we all look and feel like a mess. In the end, the mess was worth it. There are small details of those days that I could never forget- some bad, but more good. 


I thought about that one day, while sitting in English class, I was on the edge of my emotional peak. Ready to tell the next person off had they said the wrong thing to me. Right in that moment, Brian called to check up on me, and suddenly I started to bawl out my feelings of stress and anxiety to him. We were all under this invisible and constant pressure of just wanting to make it, and make it together. I can admit that in the near beginning of our candidacy days, many of us cared little for one another, and the word "team" was of to no existence or avail. None of us really knew each other; we all had very different backgrounds, experiences, perspectives, and talents- but after all the long nights, the excessive emails, and the funny text messages to one another, we found a friend in each other. 


Do you remember that one Friday night in Ro's dorm room where we all sat around watching "Step Brothers" while shining our shoes? Oh, I know you remember this night, because it was absolutely hilarious watching Ro, Noel, and Brian walk around acting-out that entire movie better than Will Ferrell and John Reilley. How about during TTW when we all had these ridiculous "missions" to accomplish, and somehow, in the middle of it all, we ended up on this small piece of plastic, hugging each other like care-bears (which by the way, made an awesome picture of Ro at his very best). Who could forget Kayley's infamous party back at her old apartment with her amazing roommates, plus 40 other people we all didn't know. "I'm the Indian in the cupboard!" Berkey shouts, while we all laugh and realize he was just in his underwear with penises drawn all over his face. Apparently he passed out in the bathtub, while the rest of us were dancing and drinking the night away. That was a good night, I'd say. What about the small party we had a Teresa's dorm right after dining-out, for which we all got kicked out and somehow ended up in the Bronx. Good times back at Teresa's dorm, where we'd sit around, talk shit, drink, watch TV., play cards, and joke around. Going out to Raenaa's job to have our semesterly get-togethers is always fun too, especially now since we're finally all over 21 and can drink, legally. I can sit for hours and reminisce about past times with these people. In the brief two years that I have known them, I can truthfully admit that they have changed me and molded me into a much better and happier person. Of course, that is what's bound to happen when you find the right group of friends. Once in a while I'll look back at old pictures of us. Pictures of our nights out, parties, get-togethers, community service work, and candidacy. We've had some amazing times, and I am absolutely grateful for all the times that are left to come. Years from now, I know I'll say, "These are things I'll never forget."


I remember at some point during candidacy, I wanted to just give up and quit- walk away from it all. Something had stopped me then and I didn't know what it was, but I later on realized that it was them. You never know what home really feel likes until you find that perfect group of people that within all your drama, flaws, mistakes, irrationality, and naiveness they still somehow accept you. They still care for you. I was young, I was naive, full of mistakes and irrationality- I thought I had the world figured out already, and I was dead wrong. Each of them brought some new and undiscovered perspective to the table that made my life so much more interesting, and suddenly a part of me had fallen in love for the first time. Not the kind of love that one has with his/her spouse, but the kind of love that becomes unconditional because it's a two-way street from there on out. They accept you with all your problems and bullshit, and you accept them in just the same manner. Isn't that what friends are for? For acceptance, love, and support? I always thought so. I already have friends that I feel that way with, but when you add a few more to that heart of yours, your love-letters start to sound like this:  

You guys might not know this, but I consider myself a bit of a loner. I tend to think of myself as a one-man wolf pack. But when we went through candidacy together, I knew Kerrianne was one of my own. And my wolf pack... it grew by one. So there... there were two of us in the wolf pack... I was alone first in the pack, and then Kerrianne joined in later. And then a few months after, when we all decided to hang out together, I thought, "Wait a second, could it be?" And now I know for sure, I just added five more guys to my wolf pack. Seven of us wolves, running around New York City together, looking for beer and food.

A lot of us ended up going separate ways for reasons that were out of our control, and as much as that saddens me, it has strengthened us. We're all living our own lives, doing our own things, fulfilling our own personal goals, but somehow in the midst of all that, we will meet somewhere in the middle- half way between me and you, which makes it us. 


At times when I dream, I go back to those days. I don't know why, but maybe somewhere deep down inside of me, I still miss them. I miss the closeness of always feeling surrounded by their presence because on my shittiest of days, they bring a smile to my face and laughter in my voice. I miss the endless and ridiculous loads of jokes- it's all the inside jokes that were the best to me. I guess, when it comes down to it, I miss having them around for the sake of them keeping me sane. There were days when we all hated our lives and asked ourselves, "Why are we here again? What was the purpose of this?" All these unanswered questions, but the fact of the matter is that we all made it through the trials of miles together, and that is what made everything all the more possible even when life seemed impossible. (At least for me, this is how I felt, I can't speak for all of them.) I know that no matter what happens, where ever we all end up at, we'll always be friends, even though some part of me still feels left behind in those days and ways of when we were all just us; living in this small moment within our great big lives. I love each and every one of them individually with all their unique personalities and flaws. I love each and every one of them like I love my family.