Day 7; Best Friends
(Christophe / Gregory)
I'm unsure of how we came to have a relationship of any sort. He's so exaggerative and final, not to mention unkempt. Honestly, if he didn't have such a passion for freedom I'd never have spoken to him. But, here we are; his head in my lap as he cockishly blows smoke into my face. If there were more serious matters to discuss I wouldn't have brought up my curiosity, but seeing as we've just been sitting like this with music playing for what has felt to be hours and doing nothing else, it seemed like a fine thing to talk about.
"Chris."
"Mn."
"Would you consider me your closest friend?"
He moves his gaze from the wall to my eyes, staring me down in what I could only see as disbelief.
"Are you stupid?"
"Just asking."
I could see him working the question over in his mind, contemplating how to answer. Of course he couldn't just say yes or no. If he did, he wouldn't be able to throw in curses and have it be meaningful somehow. Even so, I knew the answer. I just wanted to see what he had to say about it.
"You are ze closest thing I have to a friend, Gregory."
Oh.
Blatant honesty.
I hadn't expected that at all.
"What makes you say that?"
"Well…" He took a drag, and exhaled smoke into my face again. "You are ze only person I know zat looks forward to seeing me. You don't mind my mannerisms and you care. Enough to make sure zat I'm not just living. Zat I'm alive. You are my best friend, of course."
The hours of silence had apparently put him in an honest mood. I didn't really know what to say, so I slid my fingers into his hair. He sighed, closing his eyes.
"And you?" He said.
"What do you mean?"
"Beetch. Am I?"
Oh, right.
"Yes, you are my dearest and closest friend."
Silence set in again, but not completely. The music was still playing; another song had just started. French. I haven't a clue as to what was being said but it sounded absolutely beautiful.
I'm told that our lives aren't worth much,
They pass like an instant, like wilting roses.
"Zis is my one of my favorite songs. I feel like I wrote it to you, in another life. Or somezing."
I'm told that time slipping by is a bastard
Making its coat of our sorrows.
"How nice. I'm sure the lyrics are lovely."
Yet someone told me…
That you still loved me
He mumbled along and I listened, feeling much more satisfied with how the conversation had gone than I had expected to.
Someone told me…
That you still loved me.
Well? Could that be possible?
