Cherished

Bismillahirrahmanirrahim.

It's amazing how spending time with precious old friends leaves various feelings in your heart.

You didn't even talk much. You just listened. And how that affected their feelings, and yours. 

They were eager to do so, and you were there, attentive. Even if they told you to talk, you would stumble, say a few words, then go quiet again. 

...Your story becomes a secret. 

It's not that I don't want to tell it to them, it's the feeling of happiness when someone ask you on how your life has been. The feeling of touched when someone cares to listen to your story. The feeling that someone is interested,  but wouldn't judged you on whatever you told them on what you've done.

I know how to do that. I know how to make them feel appreciated when talking. 

But I don't trust them to do so to me. My life story isn't as interesting. 

It's shallow. Bland. Boring. You could've listen to a better story than that. 

So I'll make them happy by listening. And when they're happy, I'm satisfied. 

**********

I don't wanna leave. 

If I leave, we won't be able to see each other again.

Maybe we can, later, but right then they were in front of me. If I leave, I'd be alone again.

As I've always been. 

... I should be fine.