Sundays Are Supposed To Be Sunny

When the fire of friendship eventually dies down to pitiful embers, where does one get the necessary kindling to feed its forlorn gasps? Who should you blame for its unnatural descent to the demise of indifference? Time, fate, circumstance, distance, growing up........ We all have different reasons, different names for that unnatural cause to a perennial, bittersweet chapter of our existence in this world.I may not always need my friends as they might not always need me. Nevertheless, I will love them in ways more than they can love me. But this day's pall had stripped them of the unschooled allure, showing them in their somewhat bizarre but wonderful individuality that endeared them to me more.Maybe those years of my absence from their company and my stubborn need to give my inner self some breathing room had indeed taken its toll. I know the words I'm looking for are neither personal growth nor moving on (whatever that means). Whatever it is, if the powers that be see it fit that I only savor its essence but not its name, so be it. Less words, less trouble, so they say. For it is that piece of me that relishes that form of peace this universe manages to give out scraps of.To feel and detached and cherished by your peers at the same time, is this what humanity feels or I'm just running low on caffeine? Maybe I'm just ranting and whining about bad hair day or I just hate it when it rains on a Sunday.