Ah, many times I started writing a paragraph to someone about how strongly I remembered this single thing they said years ago, and how I made that a part of my own, and how much a difference it had made to my life. How fondly I remember my time with them as classmates, colleagues, or just as friends, and how it soothed the passing of time. How, alongside splitting the bill for a lunch held thirty minutes ago, I would like to tell them how much I enjoyed it, how it refueled me with much-needed joy to share spaghetti with them.
And how many times I’ve abandoned those messages. How I’d just stick to the formal part; splitting the bill or silence altogether. Because I’d be certain they wouldn’t remember such a moment or didn’t catch the feeling. Unsure whether I could say such a thing, because it’s not something people do — so out-of-the-blue, so unsolicited. I’d convince myself it’s better to delete what I just wrote and forget about it.
And in such a moment I’d lose that opportunity of friendship.
Because every time I did proceed sending such messages, it brought joy to the person whom I was grateful for — which brought even more joy to me.