Because 'take pity' wouldn't be exactly right. Little Soul don't need your pity. Got, in the words of Jack, its own friends. The parkour of life ain't much about taking pity.
Patience, though, is a different thing. Tricky thing to take, uncomfortable reach. It can't all be reaching for dragons or unicorns. Sometimes, lions snap at your fingertips. The concept and conceit of expecting the world will recognize you as brave. A small, fragile, very brave thing.
Talking to you, reminding me of myself. As I was three years ago, but also, as I am. I'm not so old as to not need patience from those that surround me. Funny, but strange as well, the intercepted, fragmentary ways in which we float into one another, and permeate otherwise foreign lives. To think, if you hadn't known hell, I wouldn't have perhaps known you.
i remember the word. hell. remember using it and being told i wasn't yet grown, then later that it was i who tolerated it. do you? tolerate...hell? unthinkable, telling you you did, though looking back, you were then no older than me, or even less. i thought about her a lot, then when it became difficult, progressively less.
the hows and logistics turned illogical, impractical to me.
so what for grandiose names, and improbable exaggerations? so what if you should be caught making of your life a story?
i get the impression of impatience. that words like yours and mine shan't be tolerated forever. which is when you begin to disappear, when silence and isolation begin to make sense. how long's your bedspread, and can you afford to wander a little more?
haihui.
the best word in the romanian language. your word, today. mine still? and always. you're allowed to stay young, i'm allowed to stay less. the call of youth, or the call of your beautiful freedom?
i knew, from the first time, the freedom you recognized in me, knew it to be worthwhile and precious, that what you saw in myself wasn't something that would get seen always. that wouldn't be tried to be thwarted or brow-beaten.
regardless of age, i've always thought inspiration should flow both ways. when you stop learning from the youth, you die. take courage. take patience.
i think enough time has passed to recognize between ourselves that wasn't the kind of loving you needed. i think enough time has passed to admit not only that i feared the cage you were building around yourself, but also that you inspired me in ways, also. misunderstood, hectic, too fast for your own good. seeing myself in you the way you saw yourself in my mirror.
i wonder at who you'll be in 20 years. whether you'll bandy around such big words, still. you like words much too much for your own good. guess that's one thing we got in common.
when you spoke of terrible things, the first thing i was told was that you liked to dramatize.
it's true, you do.
who said, though, that needs be a bad thing?
who's to say, those not prone to dramatizing aren't, in fact, repressed Little Souls, also? that they couldn't benefit from a little more patience, and a handful more grand words themselves?
the older i get, the more i appreciate the tender relationships of recognition and poetry that form, sometimes, among women. with each year, i find i've a little more room in my soul for patience and love for the beautiful women that i find in my path. and there's such strength, such source in these relationships. an intricate complicity among women. what treasure.
