I don’t have a lot of friends.
When I was younger, I wasn’t the sort of person who collects a large cadre of people, and that hasn’t changed with time. I’ve always had one or two close friends, and several large circles of acquaintances, the intersections of which I float freely about.
This has always struck me as a little antisocial. While I consider them meaningful, my relationships with acquaintances are relatively shallow – they barely scratch the surface.
I am not the sort of person who remembers everyone’s favorite color, or which foods they hate. I can’t remember birthdays, even for people close to me. I am often a shoulder to cry on, but usually as a matter of last resort.
With my “close” friends though, I have always been in deeply meaningful relationships. Intimate (occasionally in the biological sense). I consider them family, and treat them as such.
I don’t have any friends like that any more. One by one, my closest friends have drifted out of my life, leaving me standing alone. The cheese. It is not that I am not happy for them – they all had to do what they’ve done for themselves, and I am fully supportive of that. I do miss them, and I miss the role in my life they played.
The spaces they filled.