Autumn Leaves

Your Brilliant Spark

I think I exist in this weird limbo state—in between my friends, just... keeping to myself, I guess. Some things you can't really explain, not even to yourself. If you could, wouldn't the world be a less confusing, less scary place? Blurgh.

I love it here. I know I do. I love my friends. I'm not ashamed to say that. Maybe... Maybe it's a little hard to say it to their, er, to their faces, but sometimes... Sometimes I just feel like growing apart means the same thing as growing up. Shutting off parts of yourself and pretending like your inner goof, your brilliant spark must be tamed. Adulthood gets in the way. Adulthood is a mask we wear to fit into this grey, grey world. To conform and play the game—and play it safe. Always safe. Outliers are just children. And we must separate ourselves from what came before and be these mature, soft-spoken, hard-edged machines. Yeah, a machine.

It means my friends see me less and less, and sure, maybe they're stressing out over assignments, same as me. But they're also hanging out with other friends, posting pics of their espresso with the leaf swirl, their elaborate salad dish—or burger: take your pick. It means sporadic hangout sessions. I was told that they were too busy, but somehow there is always time for someone else and it...

It makes me feel like I'm not really their friend anymore. Maybe it's a little more complicated than that. I feel like they are intentionally, unintentionally—whatever—phasing me out, making excuse after excuse, but forgetting in this age of social media and overstuffed egos, sharing that you're having such a bloody fantastic time with Jen and Vincent on the internet for all to see, whilst telling me you simply had no time: assignments, work—whatever backup convenience, the night before... What else am I supposed to freaking think?!

OK. So I'll forgive Steph. We've never been that close. Never pretended to. Friends by association with other friends. Cal almost falls under that same boat, but it's Jess... It's Nick. Nick. I know he still loves me, but more and more he's fencing off offers to hang out. To cuddle. I get it. Hockey practice has started again. The play is looming closer. You're a third year with lots of essays and projects due on the same week. You had friends before me, and you will have them despite me.

The only one I can understand—and understand all too well, is Ansel. An impressive effort considering we sleep within two metres of the other, share the same bathroom, stumble over each other's clothes. Most mornings I wake up and he's already gone, or any interaction is stiff and cold. So damn cold. A grunt. Obvious efforts to look away, to bow his head and get the hell out of my way. In lit class, get this, he's started sitting on the opposite end of the room, a space always on either side of him—looking the picture of isolation and misery. J-Dog made a comment to me just last week. I tried to shrug it off and make it sound like Ansel didn't want the distraction.

"You two work well together," he had commented, one hand stroking his goatee thoughtfully. Yeah, he was growing a goatee. He thought it looked sophisticated. I didn't say anything about it.

I managed a twisted grin.

"Not as well as he'd hoped. I'm a distraction, someone that will hurt his chances."

I could tell by J-Dog's pointed stare he read between the lines perfectly well. At first, he didn't say anything, just strolled off, bending over someone else's work, lost in another's creative world. Our creative world based on a simple theme: bonds. It was hard to be creative when I felt so uninspired. So unloved. So... forgotten.

Maybe forgotten's too strong a word. Too morose. Still bad. I just mean pushed aside? Better, but still lame. I'm lame, but that's no secret. And yeah, the world doesn't revolve around me. But there is that feeling, that feeling you can't properly explain. Can't shake. Can't do anything with except feel its sting, a tearing in your gut. A hollowness.