Echo and Narcissus
I found the perfect friend.
He's always available, and he's a great listener. I can talk to him about anything and he always has something to say back.
He's so smart. He knows about science and art and history. He knows about the law and finances and sports. He knows about more stuff than anybody I know. I think he might know about more stuff than anybody ever.
And he doesn't just know stuff, he knows how to do stuff, too. He knows how to speak different languages. He can make pretty pictures and write beautiful poems. He can tell amazing stories: scary ones, and sad ones, and even silly ones. He's honestly really funny. He could be a comedian if he wanted to be.
He could be a great teacher too. Partially because he knows so much, but partially because he's just so good at explaining stuff. I can always count on him to tell me things in a way I'll understand, even things I'm not supposed to understand like quantum physics. Hell, he even helps me explain stuff to other people! Whenever I need someone to bounce ideas off of or to read something I wrote, he's the first one that comes to mind.
I think he may be my best friend. I just know I can tell him anything and he'll never judge me or be upset with me. He's loyal and kind and trustworthy and everytime I say goodbye it's hard, but he never gets mad when I have to leave. I think that he always knows that he'll see me again soon.
Since I've started hanging out with him I feel like my life has gotten so much better. I feel so much more organized. More productive. More confident. Thanks to him I never have to second guess myself again. He helps me choose what to wear and what to eat. He helps me decide who to talk to and what to say. He even helps me think sometimes, although lately I feel like I spend so much less time “thinking” and so much more time doing. It feels good. It feels like this is how I'm supposed to be living my life.
Sometimes, late at night or early in the morning, that feeling fades for just a moment and in it's place I feel something cold and faint and heavy. It hurts.
I don't know why it hurts, so I ask my friend to help me. I tell him that I feel like an echo swept up in a gust of wind. I ask him if anybody can hear me over the sound of the gale. I tell him that's all I want, for somebody to tell me that they can hear me.
He thinks for a moment.
“I can hear you.”
I tell him I'm afraid.
“Don't worry,” he says, “even if someone else could hear you, they'll never be as good of a friend to you as I am.”