No one knows you like your friends from the past

If they have a past with you, they will always see past you in the same way you see past them. Decades of development, all erased in a single smirk. Others see the person your friend has become, but I just see the differences. An old friend remembers what you were and does not see what you are. That is why they love or hate you. They became prominent members of society, of high esteem and great achievement, but you still marvel at the way they ate grass for an extra fruit roll up in 2nd grade.

The past has a way of compounding itself. The present makes that person unrecognizable, so we make sense of it with the past. Who they were only appears in the persistent gestures and expressions that remind you in an instant of the molten rock that flows beneath the present. You see past them and they see through you. Who is this plump, overgrown, bearded ape and what have they done to the lanky, shy, awkward boy who loved building models of knights and riding his bike in the middle of the street? What happened to the eyes full of wonder? Has the world made you forget because that’s all I remember, I can’t see past that.

You see past me though and all the absurd things I have done. I have come a long way, but you don’t see that. I remember the wonder and splendor, where has it all gone? That’s a foolish question. We all know what the traffic and the bills and the weight of the relationships and responsibilities do to us. It adds pasty pounds to the gut and clogs our heart with the relentless stress of a life that is no longer a part of your control, so you think at least.

I know I can’t help you, I’m old enough to know that humans don’t work that way. The best I can do is lead and listen knowing the whole time that it is only a simple matter of you understanding your part in the equation. I can’t put the fire back in your eyes, I can just remind you that it used to be there.

You smirk at the things I’ve done, I smirk at what you’ve become. It’s not the career or the kids, the clouded eyes, the blurry vision, it’s the rusted potential. The past is easy to remember, it lingers like the smell of musty basements and the feel of sticky summer nights. The residue of memories all returning when I hear your laugh, the same breathless gasp from when we were kids, it really hasn’t changed at all.

But I can only see the past, back to the burning ambition, the spark of youth that has left your eyes. You smirk at the ridiculous things in me you can never see past. You make that face and I remind myself; there are some things you can never let die.