They’re my kind of people. Those endearingly quirky messes of people. Not big messes, but the kind that make people compassionate and understanding. The kind of messes that bring us all back to the bar for a drink and a good long heart to heart where judgment is cast aside, because Heaven knows we were not made perfect ourselves.
I miss those people. I miss those inside jokes. I miss those painful and beautiful memories. I miss being with people who let me love them, and who love me in return, not because they feel obligated to, but because they chose to be my friend, and before they knew it became family. I miss those people who know where I came from and allow me to be the mess I am…within reason.
I miss the afternoons at Starbucks on our laptops or doodling with our newly bought Sharpies. I miss our conversations about television shows and all our favorite quotes. I miss our late nights working together to complete projects, homework, or to just figure out if our last writing made any kind of sense, since it was nearly two in the morning and coffee was at an all time high as morale was at an all time low. I miss late nights becoming sleep overs. All nighters becoming very long days. I miss long conversations about philosophy, writers, theologians, and the life situations we found ourselves in. I miss the ability to speak my mind and being lovingly challenged and questioned. I miss growing because of them and helping them to grow.
I miss dreaming with them. Figuring out ways we could all live together and be around one another. Dreaming about the stores we could open and own. Dreaming about the travels we could have. Dreaming about being close together indefinitely. Making our own little commune. Our small community of friends.
I hate feeling so scattered and disconnected from them. It’s like a little piece of my heart is far away. It probably seems really strange for me to be that attached to my friends. I get that. People don’t often care as deeply for other people anymore as I do. But, what other people really cannot understand about my friendships, is that they give me a glimpse into what Paradise will be. Everyone living together and loving one another as if friendship and family were no different in definition. Where we are allowed to fully be ourselves without judgment clouding our perception of self or one another. Where we are appreciated on a level that cannot even be comprehended. That is what happens when I am with them, and when all that future Paradise feels so far away, they bring it a little closer. They lift me up out of the slump I’m in and help drag me through it all, and I do the same for them. They remind me I am not alone in all of this. That we will make it out one day, and we will still be together even then.
They help me understand God’s vision for the ideal human experience.