For You My Friend

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When I was much younger, I thought like most young kids did. I thought about the strong scent of lingering days and often, especially if a tall glass of Kool-Aid was involved, I would forget about the things that mattered the most–usually just as quick as I had learned them. Many times, especially growing up and finding the most freedom in a humidity-filled South Carolina summer, my interpretation and understanding of friendship grew at a pace that was unnoticed, unfiltered, and almost transparent to the touch.

Those days…

Also, as the only child, one quickly learns that either 1) my stuff is my stuff, or 2) your stuff is my stuff but you don’t know it yet, or 3) your stuff doesn’t matter because Johnny down the street has better stuff anyway. Either way, and I typically felt this even before any argument over stuff would start, I would know in my heart that my stuff in conjunction with your stuff would never make for a happy marriage together anyway…

In essence, my understanding of friendship didn’t involve the very basic nature of giving, or at the very least, the act of sharing.

So, as a now 33-year-old prime meat of a Man, I’ve found that sharing goes hand-in-hand with giving. No matter where you stand on either argument, one will always agree that you can never have enough stuff in your life–or maybe not? Well, for the purposes of this life lesson entry, postive or negative stuff is all relevant. It’s only in the showcase of our stuff that truly makes us who we are.

Just like a tall glass of Kool-Aid on a hot humidity-filled day in South Carolina.

M.C. Davis

A Reminder

I
don’t
mean
to
pressure
you,
but we
don’t
start
the day
in the
same
space,
we
gradually
lift
each other
into
a new
space.
We
count
in tones,
frequencies,
and
dialects
that
only
we
feel.
Often,
the
night
waits
for us
to
ask for
peace.

I’m
only
tellin’ you
this
because
your
eyes
reminded
me
yesterday
of
how lucky
I
am to
share
you
with God
himself.

M.C. Davis

Words

…often gets misinterpreted.

Well, not entirely all the time, but when words are put into a power struggle with emotion, we’re often left with only a few remnants of whatever brought us there in the first place. I’m no expert, and please hold the applause, but I do know a thing or two about emotion. In almost 34 years of playing in the dirt, I’ve seen them come and go. I’ve even seen them run in panicky fear, and during those dark days, I’ve been the one coming and going.

For one, I’m an artist.

As an artist, you only need to see things as clearly as the guy next to you. Even better, you only need to be able to simple see. I’m also a chronic psychopath when it comes to choosing the things in my life that allow me the most growth. Friends, if you haven’t guessed, fall deeply into this category. Lovers, and maybe if you’ve been living under a cave for the past 100 years, you may realize that they fall right in line with the need for oxygen. Of course, the ability to be free streamlines all of this into a gift-wrapped box waiting to be opened on Christmas Day.

But what of love you say?

See, love allows us to feel without feeling, taste without tasting; and of course, experience without experiencing. If we talk too much about it, people shutter in disgust. However, if we don’t talk enough about it, people fight to the death to get the important details. So, I choose to be both and experience full flavor and in full detail.

My genes and chromosomes simply wouldn’t have it any other way.

M.C. Davis