Aman Basra

What if we could switch the narrative? What if I told you, the possibility exists, the possibility that things can and will get better?

You cannot teach people to reciprocate the very kindness you share with the world. You cannot teach people to care when all they know is self-interest.

Allow yourself to drown in the hopeful possibility that you will get better.

There is both sorrow for what no longer is and admiration for what was.

I don’t need it to be the primary arc, I just need the possibility you know. The possibility exists for us both.

Maybe you’ll die, knowing you haven’t just survived, but actually lived.

I know your vitality will come back, I can sense its pending return.

I want to grow old with you and watch you grow more handsome as the years pass by.

I know how you feel when we are about to enter a room. I can sense the dread as it overcomes you. I can see the way your footsteps want to cease and forcefully drag along.

The only definition in being human is being subject to error. It is in our nature to be fallible.

You aren’t just liable for yourself anymore and you don’t have the insurance of infinite time. The implications of your choices have more power now and you realize you aren’t as free as you thought you would be.

You exist here, in this forgiving world of solace and it is here that you will appease your soul.

He never learned though, he never learned or accepted your departure. He thinks he’s moved on when he’s sound and sober, but when he’s drunk, really drunk, he’s the victim of his own nostalgia.

I miss the incongruity you bring, the excitement that comes on city nights with you. I miss the shenanigans, the escapades, the youthful bliss.

I want the certainty of my phone ringing, that anticipation of another human voice. I want the urgency of finding my phone and hastily saying hello.

This is our game. It’s mutually understood, there are no repercussions.