Blink

. . .The problem with refuting wisdom from the ancients is that eventually you'll be forced to agree with them. One such example deals with friendship. When I was younger, my [old] teachers would always say how we should cherish the time we have together, because we'd soon grow up and not see each other ever again. So logically, I thought, the trick was to maintain contact even through graduation.
. . .But apparently, I was sorely mistaken. Because no matter what I do, it is only the effort from one end -- mine. If the other party doesn't care, then naught can be done. In an Ancient Chinese classic, it says that friends will grow up together, but diverge paths in life. And I thought it simply meant that the circumstances which govern our lives cannot be controlled.
. . .But as I now recently sorely encounter, that isn't it entirely either. People change. And that statement, however recycled and cliché, rings very true for me in a much more personal way. Not only do people change metaphysically, but they also change with respect to other people. The dynamic between two people change. Perhaps that's why best friends sometimes grow up becoming each other's archenemy.
. . .Perhaps that's why youth have more passion; they're not as ready or accepting of life's circumstances than the elderly. I remember a time when I would be ready to defy any and all laws of life and nature. I once met a caterpillar, nothing remarkable, really. The larva would greedily devour its surrounding leaves, leaving only a path of death. But I still somehow ended up befriending this larva, for it was of foreign import. As time passed by, the caterpillar grew into a beautiful butterfly. But I musn't get close, for fear of crushing its wings -- they had not been dried yet, being fresh out of the cocoon. And so I waited. But then the butterfly flew to great heights, well beyond my reach, and learned of most wonderous and dreadful arts. It learned to strengthen its wings to fly better and expand it's lifespan. Perhaps now the butterfly has matured. Seeing an old friend, the butterfly flutters close by. But at first contact between wing and flesh, blood was drawn. Wings of steel now replaced that dangerously captivating pair of wings of my friend, the butterfly. Cold, hard and sharp, every touch portended death and disaster.
. . .I am but a human, made of flesh and bone. Blood runs through my veins, though not as readily as it once has. The cost of contact with my butterfly has become too high. And thus two once-great friends part ways, n'er to see each other again.
. . .Perhaps it is in this acceptance that I learn of an adult sorrow. Being grown up isn't terribly fun, is it...