“Do you think you create fake friends, and fake stories, to hold a form of control, and to live through a made-up world where you are safe, to not bear the pain of reality?” my imaginary friend asked. “Probably,” I replied.
“I am feeling a bit of sadness,” I confessed to my imaginary friend.
“Why?” he replied.
“I am having a hard time making friends.”
“It is because you judge everyone.”
“Is that a judgement?” I ask.
“Just an observation.”
“Exactly,” I said, making a point.
He leant over and slapped me twice on the leg as a friendly gesture and said, “Its alright buddy, we have been in this situation a million times, it always works out.”
I ask him, “Do you think its just a sign, I am too far from my soul?”
“hmm,” he takes time to answer, “I don’t know.”
“Are you my soul?” I ask him.
“I don’t think so, but maybe we share one?” he replied.
“Cool” I said.
“Yeah.”
He put his arm around me and rocked me side to side with him and laughed.
“You crack me up,” he said.
I smiled, “Why?”
“I don’t know, you just make me laugh. Have you tried writing?” he asked.
“Yeah, shitloads, think I need to give it a break.”
“Why?”
“I just feel… its hard to explain.”
“You don’t have to,” he said calmy, looking into the darkness where the noise of broken waves came from.
I tried, “I just feel, the relationship with writing, it just needs space sometimes. Like,” I thought for a few moments, my imaginary friend waited patiently, “I just feel like I might be going crazy. Like I am spending too much time with a girlfriend, and I've lost all touch with the world. You know?”
He didn’t judge and replied, “Yeah, you can be sad at that awareness or grateful you have it.”
“True,” I said, taking a sip of the beer.
“So, what can we do?” my imaginary friend asked.
“Just not worry about it, have the confession deep within and hope the universe sorts it out for me,” I reply, sipping my beer again.
I looked at my imaginary friend, sitting there so content on his chair, not drinking, has nothing, just enjoying the moment, enjoying silence.
“You are a good friend,” I say to him.
His face lights up like a light.
“Thanks, you are too,” he replies.
“You think so?” I ask with genuine curiosity and not just the pursuit of a compliment.
“Definitely,” he says, “You are a good person.”
“Thanks, do you have a name?”
“Imaginary friend.” replies imaginary friend.
“Cool,” I say and take another sip of my beer.
“Might have to take it easy on the mind manipulators before we head back to society” he says.
“Yeah, I know,” I say, taking a sip from my beer.
“I might head to that Latin party,” I say to him.
“Nice.”
“Want to come?” I ask.
“Sure, why are you going?”
“To distract myself from the fact that I am alone.”
“But you aren’t,” my imaginary friend said. “I am here with you.”
I felt sad because we were both right.
“I know, and I love you, I am not sure what I want, I am sorry.”
He smiled, nothing could break his spirit, I think he was a spirit, maybe, I asked him, “Are you a spirit?”
“Dunno,” he replied and continued, “Do you think you create fake friends, and fake stories, to hold a form of control, and to live through a made-up world where you are safe, to not bear the pain of reality?” my imaginary friend asked.
“Probably,” I replied.
He nodded and just thought it was interesting and with his nod he said without words ‘fair enough.’
“Does everyone feel like this?” I ask him.
“Like what?” he replies.
“Lonely.”
“I think the truth is lonely, but its an opening to a space of realisation that you are never alone. But you are a human dude, you're a social creature, you're an animal, don’t be too hard on yourself, don’t deny your nature.”
“True,” I say, sipping my beer, “Thank you.”
“Want to hear a joke?” I ask him.
“Yes” he replies.
“What did the pirate say when his girlfriend left him?”
“Argh my hearty?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t laugh, I felt sad again.
