friends are nothing

and everything. the same difference, really.

when the decision to use the dragnet in the pool of acquaintances for real friends is made, i find i have, perhaps, a handful. inversely related to the number of passing years, the numbers reflect an arrogant insistence that my life can be handled more or less on my own.

the strength of this shrinking facade lies in a stubborn reassurance that only i can fully empathise enough to help myself. a deepseated mistrust in the human condition reveals the hypocrisy of the people-i-once-counted-as-friends. ironically, this fuels the need not for closer friends, but for isolation.

in isolation, there is no one to blame but yourself. but perhaps you have no qualms dismissing the lack of justifications. but that's just me, i shrug. when the mirror is turned toward the self, i find myself guilty of the same hypocrisy.

it is easier to live with the plank in my own eye than to tediously nitpick at splinters elsewhere. at least i can feel my way around.

maybe it all boils down to my atrocious friend-making/friendship-maintaining skills. maybe friendships are deplorable existences when dependability and mutual obligation are not part of the equation. a kind gesture becomes a bonus when it is not expected.