If You Think You're Lonely Now

Last night my old friend Clyde--who currently lives in Singapore--called to ask if I needed anything. He saw on my Facebook that I just went officially jobless, and the evil estate agent who's taking over all the old property in Hong Kong has bought the flat I'm living in, which means I have to move out. At 2am I was still awake, but already half-gone to some gloomy dreamscape. 

'No, at the moment I don't need anything.'

'Seriously, tell me.'

'No...no, Clyde...what I really want to say is that you're my guy.'

'I'll come back in May when you move.'

'You suck at moving things.'

'I can drive and play music.'

'That's true...and that's more than what I'd ask for.'

'Huh. Get rid of those fuckheads.'

'I'm just trying not to be so black and white about things.'

'When did you start saying this sort of bullshit?'

Having known me for 15 years Clyde knew exactly what I meant. That in my life there are often people who milk me for understanding and affection, make little effort for or with me, then get agitated or even accuse me when I start to pull away. For the most part I have no problem with people acting this way--they give what they give, nobody is obliged to like me. But it's not reason enough for me to stay quiet, or even respond to people's excuses with compassion until it runs dry. There is always room for others' struggles or things out of my control. Then it's all a massive black-out: I have no words, not an inch of feeling left.

Clyde put his phone on the table and played guitar, as he often does when we talk over the distance. It's one of the things we've always shared, besides all the things that we don't share as best friends.