Wednesday, February 4, 2009

A Letter to the Young and Immature of Tallahassee

Dear Shallow Motherfuckers of Tallahassee,

I don’t want to be your friend if the only reason you want me is to entertain you. I am not like the others in this town. I will not crank out wit and petty jokes for the sake of your attention. If I choose to entertain you it is because you have earned my affection and proven that you are not simply a temporary friend. Too many times have I shared my heart with those who are not looking to learn what its really all about. Too many times have I sought companions in those who want to laugh and smile, yet hide themselves from you. I am not in search of the temporary; I have thrown myself towards wanton desires and needs before. One day you too will discover that to seek the temporary is a path of pain and shallow meaning. There is a big difference in “letting go and having fun” and that life which you lead.
Due to your blindness, you may think I’m talking about the opposite sex, or strictly about platonic friendship. You are mistaken. Connections are connections to me. I speak of them broadly because neither you nor I can truly understand what it means when we love one another. It’s a bond without definition, and its my belief that God intended it to be this way. What you do to me, to yourselves and to other is so sad.
You deny growth, you see in coming threads of maturity as threats to your youth. How naïve you are to the ways of emotional human evolutions. In public sometimes I pity you, for being so blind as to what it means to truly be temporary. God did not make us to be temporary beings, God made us to love and understand one another. God made us to experience things together, our bonds were made to last. Shedding them will only cause you to suffer in the end. In private however, your mistakes pain me. I wonder what kind of friends we could be had I met you in the near future. A future where you can see that fun can be had without denying the seeds to true companionship to grab you at your boot heels. In silence I suffer. In silence I wait for college to be over so that I may find those who wait for my roots to entwine with theirs.


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