Friendship. It’s a funny thing. I don’t think I’m good at friendships, but I idealize them when I see them.

I’m still listening to the Back To Work podcasts. I sometimes get annoyed at the wandering was-there-a-point dialogue between the two guys, Dan and Merlin, who do the podcast…but mostly I love them. I love their interactions, I love the way they play off each other, I love their bromance.

I love that one of their sponsors of the podcast had Merlin write a rock opera. I love that Merlin wrote it about Dan.

I really love hearing them exchange ideas, I love that they love each others ideas and talents and quirks.

At least that’s how it sounds coming through my ear buds.

I love friendships like that. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a friendship like that, but I definitely love witnessing it.

Actually, I have had a friendship like that, or something like that. It was when I was really little, back before we knew to maintain the distinction between “me” and “you”. We’ve lost touch, and we’ve lost even the slightest feeling of connection. I guess that happens. Who we are at 5 is not who we are at 15, or 25, etc.

The last time I saw him, it was something of an eye-opener. I’d seen him two years in a row, going back to the hometown for the winter holidays. He told the same stories each year, his golden teenage years recounted with his adoring father beaming at him and enjoying it as if he’d never heard the stories before. I guess he knew his part. It was weird for me, to have this person who was so much a part of me at one time that we believed we were twins tell stories about our shared childhood that I couldn’t relate to at all.

The fact that the same exact stories were told the second year, and told in the same way, as if they were a performance…well, it bored me.

I moved on, I stopped idealizing the connection I thought we still had.

But the truth is that I never can move on from that friendship, not really. The souls of our 5 year old selves are so entwined that I couldn’t tell you who was who. No wonder we thought we were twins.

Part of me will always be him.

I’ll always hope he’s doing well. I’ll always feel that invisible thread between us.

I don’t want to know if he feels it too.

I am pretty sure I know the answer anyway.