Thoughts.

Analogy of Old Friends

Today was a bit different due to the fact that the day didn't start normally. I am in a room filled with people of all ages, to the five-year-old girl who is staring at me from across the room to the eighty-year-old man who is dwelling on some thoughts next to me, moustache frowning and hands on cane.

I had a dream last night where I met some familiar people. People that I thought I knew. One was this young lad with brown hair covering his face. I never really saw his eyes. His personality radiated from under it though, and his lips were always twisted in an everlasting smirk. So naturally, I walked up to him.

"Hey," he greeted casually and remained standing in the same spot, not even offering to shake his hand.

Well. It's not like I would take it anyway.

"What am I doing here?"

He didn't answer and I knew he wasn't going to. Instead, he started walking up to a platform at the end of the room and sat there. I followed him like a pup would a bitch. Then I sat next to him, waiting for whatever he was waiting for in anticipation.

"Do you remember when you wished you had a friend around in fifth grade and you imagined me?"

"Is that all you are? A figment of my imagination?"

"Quite true," he concurred, "But you are meeting me now because of this conversation, and this one alone."

"Hm."

"I know I'm not making much sense to you. As a matter of fact, I'm stuck in a time where you haven't even given me a name. So you can simply call me Friend."

"Friend."

"Exactly," he sighed, "So what troubles you?"

"A few people I thought I knew."

"Ignore them. They're all trouble."

"Like I would take advice from my eleven-year-old imagination," I muttered.

"We're all already mature. I mean a lot of elders have the same opinion about this, so why should it make a difference if an eleven-year-old does as well?"

"I dunno," I said, knowing that he was quite right.

"So these people. You just choose not to let them go."

"Hm. Not quite. During the day, I don't think about them. Problems occurs when I fall asleep."

"As a matter of fact, some of them are in this room right now," he pointed to three figures in the back of the room.

"I don't recognize one of them completely."

"You lost her as a friend when you couldn't even remember."

"How come she's still here?"

"Your mind never forgets. No one ever forgets," he whispered knowingly and sighed, "That's what people can't seem to understand."

"If I'm a person, what are you?" I challenged.

"A figment of your imagination," he smirked humorously, "And then people hate being called just that: humans. They don't know what an honor that is."

I silently agreed, but I'd never tell him that I did.

Then I had woken up.

I am still in that room full of people. Actually, most of them had gone home already. I'm just sitting on a chair waiting for my turn. Maybe that's why I had decided to write this piece in the first place - out of boredom.

Or perhaps this had really happened.

Who would ever know?