And so the conversation slips-

“You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends,
And how, how rare and strange it is, to find
In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends,
[For indeed I do not love it … you knew? you are not blind!
How keen you are!]
To find a friend who has these qualities,
Who has, and gives
Those qualities upon which friendship lives.
How much it means that I say this to you—
Without these friendships—life, what cauchemar!”
-T.S. Eliot, Portrait of a Lady

I do not know what it means when those whom you most trust to listen, to advise, to withhold judgement - when you cannot turn to them for their counsel. Perhaps, there is one that I still find myself drawn to reaching out to from this place I've found myself. Perhaps, I'll do it tomorrow. If I can work up to it. She has always been one I can trust to never pass judgement on me, and I am more grateful for that than I have ever known. Often one needs several to tell one of their wrongs, to bemoan the injustices done upon them, to tell one of their mistakes, and missteps. Too often it is overlooked that one needs merely someone to listen, someone to sympathize, someone to offer their friendship without the slightest trace of judgement.

I am a fool to think my thoughts must always be spoken. A fool. A fool. A fool.

I believe I may have, no, I believe I have committed an act of selfish righteousness that I had no place to intrude upon. It's sickening. Abject humiliation, aside (difficult enough to swallow), I dread that I may have discarded any remaining remnant of hope for the resurrection of friendship.

It shouldn't matter, it should not matter, it does matter.

I have no impulse control. I am swayed too easily by the encouragement of other's, or the discouragement. I have a self-importance that is grating, even to my own conscience. I believe there is enough good will within myself that I can aid those who do not even seek my hand for help. I am imposing, yes, imposing in a manner that should make people ill.

I have buried the hatchet in a friendship. I have done it through my own idiocy, and I regret the loss, though not the intention.