haibara_17

Will you be my friend?

There are so many reasons why you never should:

I’m sometimes sullen, often shy, acutely sensitive, my fear erupts as anger, I find it hard to give. I talk about myself when I’m afraid and often spend a day without anything to say. I’m too serious, seldom predictably the same; sometimes cold and distant, probably I’ll never change. I bluster and brag, seek attention like a child, I brood and pout, my anger can be wild.

But I will make you laugh and love you quite a bit and hold you when you’re sad and be near when you're afraid. I cry and shake a little almost everyday because I’m more caring and frightened than strangers will ever know, and if at times, I show my tender and frightened side (the soft and warmer; anxious and fearful part I hide), I wonder, will you be my friend? A friend who far beyond the feebleness of any vow or tie will touch the secret place where I am really I, to know the pain of lips that plead and eyes that weep, who will not run away when you find me alone in the street and lying mangled by my quota of defeats, and who will stop and say – to tell me of another day when I was happy. A friend who, when I fear your closeness and push you away will stubbornly stay to share what’s left of such a day; a friend who, when there’s nothing left but me, stripped of charm and subtlety will nonetheless remain.

Will you be by friend? For no reason that I know except that I want you so.