Just right

I get things wrong.

I don't say enough, do enough.

I say goodbye to a friend, then wonder, when i get home, why i didn't press a little harder when they say they're fine, because obviously that isn't true.

I agree with a friend about how we both think we're going to fail our degree's, and then walk away, feeling so happy with all the lovely positve things they've said to me, and then stop: why didn't i say those things to them? Why didn't i comfort them instead of letting them comfort me?

In short, i can be a self-centered douche at times, and i feel bad about this a lot, for all the times i've said too little or gotton it wrong.

Today, though, i think i can be happy that i got something right.

We're talking about a new friend of mine whom i've only recently started to talk to properly.

We're talking about a girl with the enthusiasm of a child- the purest form of high-on-life that most of us will spend our lives wishing we could regain.

A girl who makes her own jewlery and wears feathers in her hair and turns handstands in the halls of the dorm just because she can, and puts on voices and accents as easily as breathing.

A girl who overturns my own predjudices against religion through her own testimony, who gives me a new look at what faith can be and what it can mean, and makes me think over my own beliefs.

But also a girl who hides insecurities behind her bubbly front. A girl with worries and fears and problems, just like everyone else.

Mostly because people just don't get her. Narrow minded, grey minded, close minded people who cant see past their view of what is normal to appreaciate her vitality and warmth and energy.

It breaks my heart to see her close off her very essence of self because she is sick of their laughter, their comments and glances and bitchiness.

Like i said, i usually don't know what to say, but today...i got it just right when i told her what she needed to hear. Because i knew what she needed was not sympathy, not for me to know how it feels to be her, not even the assurance that our kitchen is her kitchen and my door is open to her always (beside, she knows that).

She needed, quite simply, to know what i knew already: that to be judged negativly by such people sucks....but how much worse to be liked by them? How much worse to be like by people so petty, so braindead, so unoriginal, so cruel? Better to be disliked, by far.

And i got through to her.

It was the sun coming up over the hills, the freeing of a butterfly: the wonderful feeling that she was coming back to herself, that i had helped do that, that i was leaving the world with a little more good in it than bad today, that somebody was feeling better becasue of me.

The feeling of having got it just right.