The friendships of our childhood, of our teenage-hood, of our youth, the friends we had all those years ago? Do you remember that one friend you had in grade school, from whom you were inseparable? Your parents would smile at you both, watching you as you played together, attended birthday parties together, talked about everything with the hysterical ecstasy that animates the words of children. And when you cried - lips spread wide apart, precocious wrinkles invading the corners of your mouth, tears pouring down your inexperienced eyes like those great thunderstorms of Lagos - they placed their arms around your shoulder and whispered, weep no more. Or sometimes, they would sit there and cry with you, for lack of knowledge of what else to do. Where do old friendships go? I think I'm biased to think that all friendships should last forever. But perhaps I must consider the alternate possibility that friendships are like those violets my mother planted in the garden in our house in Lekki. From seeds they sprouted, their stems rising to kiss the loving rays of the sun. And then they bloomed, their petals slowly and gracefully revealing themselves to the world, like a bride lowering her veil on her nuptial evening. I recall the violets at the height of their beauty, they would gaze at me unabashedly in the afternoon heat, instructing me to regard their dazzling purple light. But eventually, in spite of the morning dew and my mother's care, they began to wither. And they withered and melted and faded, until they were no more. Where do old friendships go? They are like those violets my mother planted in the garden in our house in Lekki. They sprout, and they grow, and they bloom, and they bless us with their beauty. But eventually, they fade away. But somewhere in the garden of my soul where the soil is moistened with morning dew there are violets blooming in the afternoon heat. And they will always bless me with their light.
titsay
izzy806
discoholicmusic
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