Truths of Old

I was halfway through a piece about the passage of La Idler, and the... mess that's come of it, when I found that my heart wasn't really in it.

I'll save it for another day when I feel more inspired.

Right now I'd like to write a piece dedicated to my best friend.

Thanks for calling up the other day when you heard the news. Despite the baby, and the distance.

Thank youfor being my truest friend.

I've made many friends over the last year - and they're good, and nice people.

But somehow, when my time of need arises, there has always only been one friend whom I am truly willing to really confide in - and who is always somehow willing to hear me out - no matter how much I may seem to repeat myself.

Not just the words - but my thoughts, memories, and emotions - and even those gleaned from re-examination of old issues and flogging dead horses...

things that become moot, and tiresome to others...

.. you have somehow always had the patience to hear me out.

It's not that I can't talk to my other friends.

But perhaps I do not wish to saddle them, or irritate them with issues that they will - I sense - instinctively shy away from, or tire of.

I don't know how you put up with listening to me repeat myself incessantly.

But thank you.