friend - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
If I am your friend, I love you - love, trust and valour as a package deal... plus a recognition of worth that defies the logician's calculus. 'Friend' is a word of great weight, and you were worth every moment.
I cannot say I've been,
The best of loyal friends,
When it comes to smaller details,
To acts of tact,
Forever refraining from thoughts of judgement,
That I was never entitled to.
For this I apologise.
In that regard,
You are greater than I.
Yet all through the toughest times,
No matter my own pain,
If you had ever needed defence,
I would have come that instant,
At any whisper of a call,
As you did for me.
I love you too,
And whilst I exist,
My sword is yours.
It is when you are in need, when tears fill your eyes, that your soul reaches out to make the eternal bond of real friendship. For friendship is love and it must have a foundation of trust. So when you take that leap of trust and come to me, that's when the good stuff begins, right there in the pain and misery.
I'm not the flash friend, the one everyone wants to copy and follow around... I'm the raw and vulnerable friend, the one who wear's her heart on her sleeve and makes it okay for you to do the same. I'm the one you can run to, cry with until the snot runs down your face... and will love you all the more for being so honest and trusting. That's me. I love being me. So I'm just gonna own it. I'm thin skinned and emotionally in-tune, I see you without even trying... and I'm always right here.
It was the giggles that were the sails upon our boat, the laughter, the smiles. We saw the funny in everything and that was our bond. We could be serious too; we loved deeply of others more than is generally accepted... so I guess the humour was how we let out the tension that kind of love brings. In those silly moments, we were perfect, and they are the sweetness I need in rough times. That's what a friend can do... it's the love that makes doors in emotional brick walls, the love that makes everything possible.
Friend come to me with an open heart; come with feet that bleed. Friend come with a mind nor in future or past; come nestle your soul in the now. Friend come neither asking nor giving; come and let us be. Friend trust that I will be your safe harbour; come to one who sees.
They say to give and not expect to receive; there is wisdom in those words. For friendship is love and love cannot be a transaction, a trade. For love can expand as air can, fill any void no matter the amount. Love is healthy when given freely, altruistic, empathic and with gentleness of spirit. I guess the challenge is learning how to give so much with so little returned and still never expect any help or kindness. Maybe the way is to feel the joy that comes from giving, the way the universe rewards such beautiful ways. Perhaps that's how bad situations become good, over time, by letting nature love you, by letting the heart win. I hope so, I really do.
He was the perfect friend, or rather, he wanted to be. Maybe I only saw what I wanted to see, imagined into him what I wished for, what I needed so very much. I guess his choice wasn't easy. The ones who wanted me gone held too many cards, ones he could never sacrifice. And so we looked at one another over the invisible barricade, hearts breaking. It was that phrase that came to mind, about "water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink," when did the ocean of humanity become so salty?
He was the most gentle of souls, but I needed to see a fighter too. He was the one with soft hands and a softer voice, but I needed a defender. He was the one who held my soul as if it were a newly opened bud, as if nothing could be more precious, but when the cold winds came he was barely a whispering ghost. I still love his loveliness, still crave his warm heart, imagine his gentle words into the soundless air. Yet how long can a woman wait for her friend to show the protective element of love? Does it take more than gentleness for a man to be a gentleman?
In the push and pull between the primitive drive and higher-order social mind, I resent and then love you, my friend. I am well schooled in what love is, what love is not. When the primitive drive takes the wheel it's hard to fight it, to stay what a friend should be. If I wait for the panic to subside, to feel the sadness that lives beneath my anger, to let the fear be acknowledged... then I'm in control. Soon the feelings of love come back and I want to hold you so close. In truth, whenever the wintry rain sets in I want to run to you. Only you. Every time. Maybe one day that'll actually happen, or perhaps you'll run to me. Either way, regardless of outward appearances, you're the only one my heart has let in.